


Creator

by Jadesky1



Series: The Voice of God [1]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: First Vengeance - Comics, Captain America: The First Avenger, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Torture, World War II, nazi bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:42:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 51,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3788659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadesky1/pseuds/Jadesky1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard to get some quality research done in the middle of a war, but that's not going to stop Hydra's top scientist. A series of scenes set during Captain America: The First Avenger and from the viewpoint of one Dr. Arnim Zola. Chronicling the 'death' of Bucky Barnes and the birth of The Winter Soldier.  Rated M for human experimentation and medical torture. Also with Johann Schmidt, James 'Bucky' Barnes, the Howling Commandos and Captain America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Step Closer

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: No-one was doing much Zola so I thought I'd give it a go. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more. Now the first part of series 'The Voice of God'.

Chapter 1

Hydra Factory and Prison Camp, Austria – Early October 1943

Arnim Zola stood back from the table and looked at his recently expired test subject with a mix of annoyance and disappointment. He'd been so close with this variant, and he'd honestly hoped for more from Subject 723, or Captain Simons, or whatever it was he'd rattled off ad nauseam until his voice finally gave out. Turning away with a tut of disgust, Zola briskly beckoned over one of his Hydra aides, gesturing at the now former soldier cluttering up his otherwise pristine lab.

"Have this moved to the mortuary. I'll need to do a full autopsy to confirm the cause of death." The uniformed flunky nodded his understanding and summoned his colleague from his position standing guard, and together they quickly and efficiently released the former soldier from the bindings securing him to the bench and transported out the rapidly-cooling body.

Arnim gave a little head-shake at his own whimsy. He didn't know why he felt the need to explain his actions to these cretins. Most – despite being sensible enough to follow Hydra's ideology – were barely capable of intelligent conversation, let alone understanding even a hundredth of the significance of what they were seeing here.

Of course that was the point. Some projects were just too sensitive to allow untried lab techs to observe. The soldiers posted to him had proven their loyalty to the cause many times over, but it was much harder to discern the true dedication of their assorted staff of biologists, chemists and medics, especially when they were confronted with the sacrifices called for in the pursuit of true scientific advancement. Some stomachs and potentially hearts could be turned when human testing was brought into the equation. Plus it would be all too easy for an enemy agent to slip in as an unassuming assistant to sabotage his experiments or steal his secrets.

No, all around the slight inconvenience of working alone, at least until success was achieved, was the best course of action and a small price to pay for the chance to fulfil his aims. The chance to literally reshape human-kind and rival the creator himself. Erskine for all his genius hadn't truly understood what he'd made possible. The end of sickness, maybe even death itself. Zola was no true Nazi. He didn't really believe the Aryan race were superior to any other, but he knew that he was potentially on the verge of creating a true master race. And if he had his way it would be a meritocracy. With the best and brightest rewarded with absolute perfection by him. Schmidt would also have a say of course, there was no denying his contribution, but Zola would be the father. The creator of a legacy unlike any that came before. Now if only he could get the blasted formulation to do what he needed! Chuckling quietly to himself, he stepped over to his equipment trolley and picked up his sterilizing spray and cloth to start wiping down the testing area. After all, cleanliness is next to godliness so they say.


	2. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now with added Red Skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Another serving of Zola with a side order of Red Skull for your enjoyment. Any non-movie facts and characters come from the Captain America MCU (semi-canon) comic books First Vengeance. Rated M for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Chapter 2

Hydra Factory and Prison Camp, Austria – Early October 1943

"So Doctor, how are things progressing? I believe we have some new additions to help speed up the work do we not?" Schmidt as ever was both to the point and well-informed, a combination that Zola had often admired over their 10-year association. Even when - as was the case now- his leader's priorities didn't quite mesh with his own.

They were stood in the observation deck above the factory floor, surveying the activity taking place below. Schmidt had just returned from an inspection of Hydra's newly-completed main base, and as had been the case ever since he'd viewed the ridiculous USO footage of the so-called 'Captain America', he had the progress of his super-weapon first and foremost on his mind.

Disappointingly for Zola this was the more mundane uber-bomber the captured troops below were being encouraged to assemble, and not the great transformative work the two of them had agreed to pursue. Johann had seemed to take the Americans using his 'counterpart' as a 'glorified showgirl' as a personal insult and seemed determined to retaliate with his Blue Fire at the first available opportunity.

"Yes indeed, our latest test of the Tesseract-enhanced weaponry was it seems a resounding success. The tank especially performed beyond expectations. Our battalion engaged with some German and US forces and I believe we took as many as 130 captives, though I have not yet received the final count." Zola tried to sound interested and focused on the details of the war and the production line, but to him this was mostly a distraction. A necessary one yes, but one none-the-less.

"Yes I believe we have over 132 brave soldiers of the 107th now enjoying our hospitality," Schmidt said suddenly turning away from his position at the window and focusing his piercing gaze on his colleague. Zola was unsurprised that the Skull had all the facts to hand, it was part of the reason he followed him. "What about production? Do we still look to be on schedule?"

"Yes Herr Schmidt, we lost some workers to a bout of pneumonia but these new…" he gave one of his tight ironic smiles "recruits should allow us to make up the difference."

"I am pleased to hear it Doctor." With a sharp nod of acknowledgement Schmidt turned his attention to the bank of monitors and equipment before him, and Zola moved to exit the office. "One moment more of your time please Arnim." Zola turned back around and walked over to join Schmidt where he stood gazing down at a display. As he approached Schmidt turned his head and regarded him with something Zola could only describe as amusement in his eye "I wanted to share with you our great adversary's latest daring move." It was there in his tone too. "It seems he plans to invade Hollywood."

At Arnim's apparently baffled expression Schmidt, with a flourish, pressed a button and presented the movie he'd had queued for his reveal with a dramatic hand gesture. And there he was in all his celluloid glory, Erskine's greatest creation, decked out in his ridiculous suit, marshalling troops and looking so painfully patriotic – even in black and white – that it was almost an affront to Zola's Swiss pragmatism.

"I believe there are currently two of these great works available for public consumption and that a third is soon to be completed," Schmidt proclaimed, no longer even attempting to hide his humour at the folly of their enemies. But the next instant the glacial focus that made him the leader Hydra needed had returned, and even after all these years it still gave Arnim momentary pause to have that gaze directed his way. "We can be assured though Doctor that our rivals will not have the same reaction when they see our final achievements in this area. What do you have to report?"

"The latest trial was indeed promising. Recovery time from the subject's initial malady was much shorter than anticipated, well outside the average. There was a measurable improvement in reflexes and reaction times even when measured against a completely healthy subject." Arnim struggled to keep his pride in his work from his voice when describing his progress. All this in a war zone and without all the research notes Erskine had deprived them of.

"Yes Doctor that is most impressive. But your subject is now dead is he not?" Schmidt asked with a raised eyebrow as he casually reclined against the console, arms crossed. Luckily this was the Red Skull in scientist mode and not that of ruthless military dictator.

"Yes, it was unfortunate. I believe that the strain of the process, combined with the effects of the sickness, was simply too much for the subject's body to take, leading to heart failure. I will know more once I have done a full investigation. If I could work on a healthy subject we would advance at a much greater rate."

Though it was phrased as a statement, Schmidt understood the last comment as the request it really was.

"I am afraid we must continue with our pretence that our unwilling martyrs are succumbing to natural causes. Though I sympathise with your frustration Arnim," and his tone made clear the truth of that statement. "A riot or other prisoner unrest would jeopardise our timetable for The Valkyrie and that cannot be permitted to happen."

Zola let out a small sigh but nodded his assent, and in an unusual display of camaraderie Schmidt reached over and grasped the diminutive doctor's shoulder in a supportive gesture.

"Don't worry Doctor, all systems can be improved upon. I will talk with Colonel Lohmer. We shall keep our 'new recruits' as you called them separate from the existing workers for the time being and you shall have your pick of these fresher, stronger test subjects if that would please you. Though the same process of isolation on health grounds must still apply. "

Zola raised his head "Yes that would aid me greatly," he said gracing his German ally with a grateful smile.

"Then so shall it be." With that the audience was over and Schmidt had returned his attention to the works being carried out below. "Tomorrow then Doctor."

"Yes tomorrow." Zola gave a respectful nod despite knowing that Schmidt was no longer paying him any attention, and swiftly left the room. There was much to prepare. Maybe spreading the serum injections out over a longer period and increasing the Vita Ray bursts would be a sensible adjustment to the protocol. Yes that would be a very good place to start.

* * *

Next up one Hydra prison cell block and its assorted inmates.


	3. Missteps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it starts...
> 
> If you've clicked through to chapter 3, I'm hoping you're enjoying this. If so please let me know as my current outline runs to around 25 chapters and I'm going to need a little encouragement to get all this written. Thanks!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Here we have it finally, a helping of ill Bucky and adorably protective Howling Commandos to be. Roughly based on the First Vengeance comic books. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra Factory and Prison Camp, Austria – Early October 1943

“This is” _uncivilised_ “very thoughtful of you Colonel.”

“We have simply done as Herr Schmidt requested Doctor Zola,” Colonel Lohmer barked. The model of Hydra efficiency as always. They were down in the bowels of the factory complex, walking through the ‘pens’ holding the captives.

“Where are the new arrivals?” Turning his head left to right to observe the worn-down occupants, Zola could tell that the men in the cages he was currently being led past had been with them a while.

“I’m afraid we’ve had a few losses already Herr Zola but the remaining 107th infantry troops are just down this way”, Lohmer said indicating somewhere ahead and to the left.

When they reached the first of the circular cells holding the new prisoners Zola didn’t have to be told. These men met his and the guard’s glances with defiant stares. They’d not yet had their spirit beaten or worked out of them. He couldn’t help but admire the resolve they showed, even if it would not serve them for long.

Zola took up position next to the bars, and dispassionately scanned his eyes over the group of assorted soldiers – now all standing – who were its current inhabitants. Zola knew he had little to worry about in concerns to his safety from these men, not with four guns currently levelled at them by the surrounding prison guards, so he took his time evaluating each one of them carefully before moving on to the next enclosure. In principal Zola disliked captivity. Imprisoning highly trained men – and needing other highly trained men to guard them every moment – smacked of a waste of resources. He had some thoughts about how to address these inefficiencies, but that, as usual, was a project for another day.

Having weighed up the five occupants and found them both healthy and wanting, he briskly strode across to the next cell, and was somewhat irritated when the longer-limbed Colonel practically sauntered after him. He was used to these occasional slights from the military higher-ups in Hydra, some of whom resented his position with Schmidt. But they had their uses, and so generally he chose to simply leave it be. He’d long ago classed it as something (almost) beneath his elevated notice.

“Are any of the new prisoners showing signs of illness Colonel?” Zola placidly enquired, surveying the next annoyingly-healthy group.

“Not that my men have noticed,” Lohmer said dismissively.

At that moment an impressively timed hacking cough issued from the neighbouring cage. Glaringly loud over the resentful, concrete and metal–hard silence of the prison level.

Zola couldn’t hide the amused twitch the right-hand side of his mouth gave in response. “I believe it best to make my own judgements about these things. After all I am the doctor am I not?”

Zola with his superiority re-established shrugged off the surly officer, moved on, and instantly came face to face with an even more surly (if possible) captive in the next cell. He was a tall and solidly-built soldier, middle-aged, the owner of a fairly ridiculous moustache and sporting a bowler hat. He glared down at Zola. Whether these affectations were meant to be intimidating and distracting, Arnim didn’t know, but the fact that he was using them, and his shear physicality, to try and create that effect now couldn’t be in doubt. However he was on the wrong side of some very substantial steel bars to even begin to put the doctor off his task.

Zola moved to circle the cage and the American moved with him. This silent sentinel clearly wasn’t the afflicted party of the group. Doubly clear was his apparent determination to protect whoever was. This was an interesting development. Had news of the previous ‘patients’ become common currency in the ranks of the workers? Or was this act of insolence inspired by a personal loyalty and possibly a great deal of stupidity? Either way it was time to make use of Lohmer and his thugs.

Arnim turned to the Hydra officer and nodded his head towards the defiant captive. “Colonel if you would.”

“You three” Lohmer barked, pointing towards a group of guards stood observing to one side. “Put him down.”

The guards eagerly opened the cell door, which was directly opposite his one-man obstruction, and charged into the confined space, batons raised, and pushing through and knocking back the other four or five occupants of the enclosure – was that a pain-filled gasp he heard? - forcing their target to turn away from his stand-off with Zola and face them instead.

“Now Hans, Fritz, Karl, there’s no need to get testy I was simply stretching my legs, no harm in that is there?” the American said, a seemingly placating tone in his smooth drawl, hands raised in a gesture of submission.

Zola watched with interest; good observation was key to his research. So he carefully noted the momentary flash of concern that crossed - Dugan his tags read – Dugan’s face and the tiny shake of his head, both directed at the cell-mates currently obscured from Zola’s view by his broad frame. Clearly this man wasn’t alone in his efforts. This was a first. Clearly the sick vanishing had been noticed and possibly something more was also at work here. He’d have to make enquiries or this growing resistance could interfere with his schedules.

The next moment Dugan was down with a pained grunt, as his knees and side were dealt a couple of powerful blows by one of the guards' batons while the other two menaced the remaining captives who had been pushed back against the bars in the tight space.

Zola took a few steps and could now see unimpeded into the group of men. There were four of them, each one with a varying look of anger or distress on their face as they bore witness to the beating their companion was taking. Zola tuned out the sounds of the continued correction, and set about cataloguing and assessing the prisoners before him. A British paratrooper, still immaculate in his red beret and uniform, all fierce gaze and parade ground rigidity. A somewhat straggly-looking, shorter man, unkempt and with an air of insolence and Gallic disdain that Zola immediately identified as uniquely French Resistance. A tall, thirty-something, African-American GI glaring furiously at the Hydra goons working over his (presumably) senior officer, and standing - ever so slightly - in front of the youngest occupant of the cell, a dark-haired, and pale-eyed American infantryman who wore a pained and angry look on his expressive face, and, somewhat unusual for one so young, the insignia of a sergeant on the shoulder of his ripped uniform jacket.

This almost unconscious shielding and the shallow, accelerated breaths he was taking told Zola all he needed to know. This was the man they were trying to protect, and from the furious look in his eyes he wasn’t happy about the sacrifice being made on his behalf.

The doctor briefly met and held the young NCO’s gaze, and watched as he shifted from distress to steely determination, all while controlling his body’s own rebellion. One cough or ragged inhalation would be all it took to reveal to the Colonel’s forces that his lungs were filling with fluid, and transform his friend’s brave act into a totally fruitless gesture. Zola could see why he might have commanded this level of loyalty from these men.

He raised his hand to stop the beating Dugan was taking without complaint. “Enough Colonel!”

Lohmer looked shocked. “Herr Doctor, the prisoners have not yet revealed what you wish to know.”

“I don’t recall asking them anything,” Zola returned patiently.

Shocked instantly transitioned to livid, and the now openly seething Hydra officer ordered his men to withdraw.

Arnim sighed internally to himself; yet another problem to take care of. The guards filed out of the cell securing it behind them, and except for the sound of their boots and the muffled groan of Dugan attempting to pull himself up off the concrete floor, silence and stillness reigned for a few tense moments as the stationary prisoners waited to see what would follow.

Arnim swept his eyes back over the entire group. Let them think their ruse had been successful. He’d noted the pain-induced paleness, the slight sheen of perspiration on the brow, and the tensed muscles that spoke of respiratory distress and infection. Just as he’d taken in the athletic build, above-average height and striking matinee idol looks. Yes he may have found what he didn’t even know he’d been hoping for; a potential equal and opposite to Erskine’s All-American golden Apollo. He could picture it, a dark and mighty Ares to lead Hydra to victory in their future battles. But he wasn’t quite ready for that yet, and he had time, the pneumonia was clearly in the early stages if the soldier could still fight the symptoms. He still had too many variables to adjust and a theory or two to test out before he had use for this one.

Another wet cough echoed through the dark and damp confines of the prison from a cell or two away, and this time it didn’t stop.

“I believe we may have found our next patient Colonel,” Zola said striding over briskly to the thin, sandy-haired young corporal who was doubled over with the whole-body spasms of a suffocating man. “If you’d be so kind.”

With some minor resistance from his outmatched and exhausted cellmates, the soon to be unwilling subject was hauled roughly out of the cage, and half-dragged, half-carried in a babbling, coughing, panicked mess over to the stairs leading up to the factory level.

“Please secure him in the isolation ward. I will be up to deal with him shortly,” Zola issued after the retreating forms. Glancing back he could see that all the occupants of the previous cell were all still locked rigidly in position, no-one even daring to assist their valiant and still-prone ally until the danger had completely passed. Well Zola had done all he could on his part to maintain the fiction, but it was clear that (what was it the Americans say?) no-one here was buying what he had to sell. No matter. He had what he came for and more. And it was time to shift his focus to make the most of the few hours he was able to carve out for this truly fascinating work between bothersome work schedules and assorted mechanical issues. He’d take these few days to turn theories into robust procedure and then he would return to collect his ‘Adam’.

He briefly glanced back before mounting the closest staircase and caught the colonel shooting a cold and calculating look between the young Sergeant and his own location. He’d most definitely have to deal with Lohmer, and soon from the looks of things. Maybe assigning his own guard to watch over the prisoner would be a wise choice, after all he’d need accurate reports of his health and it was becoming clear that Lohmer was not to be trusted in this regard. Maybe he’d assign one to watch Lohmer too. Redundancies were always a good idea in any plan and he was most eager to have this one work flawlessly.


	4. Demolition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who've kudosed, subscribed or reviewed. It means a lot with this being my first fic. My these chapters just keep getting longer don't they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Lohmer might need to watch his step...oh too late. Roughly based on the First Vengeance comic books. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra Factory and Prison Camp, Austria – Early October 1943

He hated to run. For a man of his slight stature it couldn’t help but look undignified.

But there was one thing he hated to the extent that all concern over his perceived dignity went out the door. And that was something threatening his work.

His informant from the prison had just a few moments ago arrived to report that not only had the Sergeant – Barnes he’d been told – deteriorated, but Lohmer had personally administered a vicious beating that had potentially left the young man with critical injuries considering how compromised his system already was from the strenuous work, the poor conditions, and the infection running rampant through his body. This, he knew, was likely the Colonel’s retribution for his perceived humiliation a few days prior. So he’d cursed the idiot officer’s ridiculous pride and instantly set about hurriedly preparing the next round of injections for the rapidly fading, frail and fairly comatose test subject currently strapped to the gurney. This eventuality wasn’t an outcome he’d foreseen, it seemed a tad extreme even for a man of the Colonel’s supremely ill humour. But then Barnes and his friends had seemed the type that might ‘upset’ a man like Lohmer.

“Sir?” the Hydra trooper interrupted both his precise preparation and train of thought once again.

“Yes, yes. Grab Koller from down the hall. I’ll need a stretcher and med kit preparing to enable his transfer to the holding cell up here.” He wouldn’t be ready for Barnes for at least a few more days yet, but no matter.

“No sir”, the guard hesitantly interjected. “You don’t understand. The prisoner can no longer work so the Colonel plans to kill him.”

This was why Arnim was now rushing in an ungainly fashion down the corridor of the lab block and toward the cells. Whatever vendetta Lohmer was pursuing, whether against him or against the young Army officer, this was past ignoring. He would have to bring this to Schmidt. Apparently the Colonel had been killing off ill and weak prisoners for recreation. How very Nazi of him. Zola was seething and already out of breath as he reached the doorway that would lead him out on to the main factory floor. He stopped suddenly, there was far more commotion than usual, with human voices rising above those of the heavy machinery that typically dominated. Zola attempted to listen in while he took a moment to compose himself, but there were simply too many voices battling for dominance. He stepped out into the cavernous workspace just as the guards from the lab level trotted up behind him. Zola signalled for them to follow and purposely strode out into the chaos that had consumed his usually well-ordered production line.

Masked Hydra troopers covered the factory floor in almost obscene numbers. All useful activity had stopped, and the prisoners were all face down, with hands behind heads on the filthy concrete floor.

Striding in and quickly scanning the area to identify the most senior man in his eye line, Zola approached a uniformed soldier baring the insignia of Captain who looked as though he was trying to impose some order. He prided himself on his memory, but it took him a moment to drag the name Werner from the recesses of his mind.

With the help of his four-guard entourage, he quickly negotiated his way across the raucous and crowded space that separated him from the Captain and the group he seemed to be commanding. Werner saw him approaching and nodded respectfully before issuing a few more orders - which seemed to significantly reduce the noise that had been echoing across the factory floor – and then turned to give the doctor his full attention. “Sir.”

“At ease Captain. What is the situation here? And where is Colonel Lohmer?” Zola enquired. Intercepting Lohmer before he had chance to act was crucial.

“I’m sorry to report sir that the location of Colonel Lohmer and the present situation are one and the same”, Werner said moving aside so Zola could see the body currently half-buried under a weighty pile of scrap metal. “I was just about to send someone for you Doctor, though I fear the Colonel is beyond your help.”

Examining what little was visible past the tonnes of metal that had crushed the life out of him, the build and uniform were enough to re-assure Zola that this was in fact the man he’d been on his way to find. “Indeed it would appear that way Captain. A pity. I’ll leave you to resolve the situation. Who is the next most senior officer on base?”

“That would be Lieutenant Colonel Kleiber Herr Doctor. He took the group we believe are responsible for interrogation,” the Captain replied.

Zola quickly surveyed the prone prisoners, and was fairly unsurprised to see that none of those who shared a cell with Barnes seemed to be present. “Please have him join me in my lab once he’s done, if you would be so kind.”

“Yes sir,” the Captain responded respectfully.

“Oh and Captain, make sure to cancel any standing orders made by the dearly departed Colonel. We must use this loss as an opportunity to progress and improve must we not.”

“Of course sir.” The Captain looked a little confused, but it was clear that the loss of Lohmer wasn’t going to be a cause of grief to anyone here. Men with his distinct mix of fragile pride and vindictiveness rarely engendered much loyalty.

Secure in the knowledge that everything was now back in his control, Zola gave one last nod to the captain, and signalled for his retinue of guards to return with him back to the lab levels. He’d best wait for the dust to settle on all this before collecting the Sergeant from the cells, though he’d send someone down to discretely check on his current condition. Tomorrow during first shift would be the most sensible time for the transfer. He still had a few elements to prepare and now a new commander to appoint it would seem. That, and making sure this disruption didn’t impact any deadlines, was more than enough for him to tackle in one afternoon.

Now the question was what to tell Schmidt about the incident. No, best have the soon-to-be ‘Colonel’ Kleiber do that and let him start to earn his stripes at the first available opportunity. After all he had far more important things to focus on.


	5. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to get to work. Just one last thing needing to be picked up first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Zola finally gets his hands on Bucky - poor Bucky. Roughly based on the First Vengeance comic books. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria - The following day…

For some reason Zola had decided to travel down to the prison level this morning earlier than he had originally planned. He had simply found himself at a loose end.

Subject 724 would be no further use as his experimental canary until he came around from his last treatment session. He’d been unconscious now for going on 12 hours - most tiresome. And he’d reviewed all progress on the Valkyrie the previous evening.

So here he was concealing himself behind a few of the taller prison guards, observing the interactions of the captives, and those of one group in particular. He’d made clear to the newly-promoted Colonel Kleiber that his predecessor’s methods in regards to the workforce were most certainly not to be continued. They needed every able-bodied man on the production line for the plane and her cargo, and this combined with Zola’s dark amusement that the ragtag group before him had done him a favour twice-over by removing the troublesome Lohmer, was the reason they were still breathing. They had been so creative in making it look like an accident after all and he appreciated creativity.

He stood in the shadows as the prisoners able to work were made to file out of the cells and head to their next gruelling shift on the construction line. He watched as the bowler-hatted form of Dugan, and the unnamed African-American soldier ignored the barked command of the supervising guard for them to get moving, in order to crouch down next to the supine Sergeant Barnes.

Zola heard Dugan mutter something to Barnes that made the young man laugh, before breaking down into a fit of painful sounding coughing. This drew a quiet reprimand from their companion who seemed to be attempting to carry out a basic health-check on the ill Sergeant. A medic maybe? Well Barnes would soon be receiving proper medical attention so it didn’t matter what amateurish care he’d been dealt-out so far. The Hydra officer had clearly grown impatient at the delay and was now issuing threats in their direction.

Zola was taken aback – as were the others it would seem – when Barnes suddenly rose to his feet and ushered his friends out of the cell before they got in any more trouble than the week's worth of rations they were already being denied. He remained standing still until they’d vanished from sight before leaning forward to grab hold of the bars, making it clear that the display of strength had been purely for show. As he sank down to his knees, hands sliding down the steel supports and fighting for breath, Zola decided it was time to act.

“Corporal. If you would?” he stirred the guards surrounding him into action and before the Sergeant had time to even register their presence, two Hydra soldiers had entered the circular cell and were pulling him up, one at each arm.

“Get off me!” Even when barely able to stand unsupported Barnes had a spirit that Zola, had he been less clinically-minded, might have found endearing. The Doctor strode into the now wide-open cage, medical bag in hand, setting it down and pulling it open in front of the young soldier. He removed a hypodermic and vial.

“Stay the hell away from me.” The fear in Barnes’ voice was palpable.

Zola ignored him for the moment, focused on drawing the exact dosage wanted into the syringe. Tapping out the air bubbles and forcing the added excess out with a slight and expert pressure on the plunger, he switched his focus back to the ill and now panicked man in front of him.

“Hold him still. I need him immobilised”, Zola commanded the two guards. They tightened their hold on the struggling captive. “His right arm please.”

The guards looked at each other apparently at a loss as to how to both secure the prisoner and free up the requested arm to allow the doctor to perform the injection. Barnes – though he must have known it was futile – took advantage of this moment of confusion and struck out with a well-aimed kick at the hesitating Hydra stooge on his right. For a brief moment he had his arm free, but his rebellion only lasted until the slightly more competent trooper on his left ruthlessly forced him down to the ground with a sharp twist up of the still held limb, and what looked to be a staggeringly painful blow to the back of Barnes’ knees.

Zola admired the tenacity. It could prove invaluable. But he was still no closer to being able to proceed. “Put him on his front please gentlemen. And gently now, breathing is an issue, is it not Sergeant Barnes.”

This earned the Doctor a fierce glare from the kneeling blue-eyed soldier, which was broken only when the guards on either side forced his upper body down onto the cell floor, and used their weight to immobilise his arms and legs. This stubbornness could eventually prove to be a mixed blessing Zola mused silently to himself.

Now able to gain access to the Sergeant’s forearm which was being firmly held against his back, Zola prepared a swab with surgical spirit, pulled up the young man’s right sleeve to the elbow and cleaned his chosen spot, provoking yet another desperate convulsion from the sick captive.

“There’s no need for concern Sergeant. This is simply a dose of penicillin to aid your recovery from this infection.” Zola inserted the needle with practised precision into the selected vein and injected the antibiotic quickly into the boy’s bloodstream.

“Well that’s just peachy, but if you’re that concerned about my well-being maybe you could, oh I don’t know – let me go? That would work wonders,” the Sergeant ground out from where his face was still pressed into the unyielding floor.

Zola walked back to his medical bag chuckling. “Very amusing. It’s good that you can keep your spirits high. I am afraid that what is to come may prove difficult for you to experience.”

Zola deposited the used syringe in one compartment of the bag and removed a fresh hypodermic along with a bottle of sedative.

Alarmed, Barnes forced his head slightly up off the concrete. “What…” he began, before forcing himself to stop the question spilling from his lips as he saw the doctor preparing yet another injection.

“What do I mean? What is this? What will happen? What is your question Sergeant?” Zola gave him an appraising look as he tried to judge the correct dosage for his patient. “This is simply something to help you relax and allow you to heal. I have a question of my own. What is your current weight?”

Barnes remained silent, eyes fixed apprehensively on the short scientist.

Zola shook his head in mild annoyance. “No matter, I’m a fairly good judge and I imagine you are probably now a good way off what you were at your last army physical.”

He drew a sensible measure into the syringe. That should probably do it.

He walked back to the pinned prisoner, who was straining against his captors almost as much as he was straining for breath. As Zola leant over him to administer the shot, the young man’s harsh, laboured breathing accelerated and his struggles intensified. Lending his slight weight to the guards’ efforts, Zola knelt on the Sergeant's back, briskly cleaned a spot - this time on the left arm – and quickly inserted the needle and administered the tranquilliser.

The powerful drug quickly started to take effect and Barnes uttered a soft ‘no’ as he lost his battle with rapidly approaching unconsciousness.

Zola pulled himself upright, patting Barnes on the arm as he did so. “There that wasn’t so bad was it?”

He turned his attention to the guards, “Keep a hold on him until I say.” He stood back and watched as the effects of deep sleep claimed the American; breathing evening out, muscles relaxing and softening, body pressing into the floor. Zola knelt down by the soldier’s side and reached to his neck to check his pulse. Yes he was definitely fully under.

“You can release him now.”

The guards both rose to their feet with relieved sounding groans. Clearly restraining Barnes, even an ill Barnes, had been a challenge. Arnim made a mental note to add an extra restraint to the table from the start of the procedure. Best not to underestimate this one.

“The stretcher is over by the stairs. Fetch it,” Zola issued in their direction, leaving it up to the two men as to who carried out the command.

The one closest to the cell door rushed to collect the stretcher leaving the other guard to stand watch with the Doctor and the prisoner. Zola barely noticed. He reached down and carefully arranged Barnes’ arms at his sides, and then straining slightly he rolled the unconscious man onto his back before straightening.

“We’ll soon have you as good as new Sergeant Barnes,” Zola said looking down almost fondly at the young officer. “Maybe even better if we are all fortunate, huum?”

Zola received a glance in his direction from the Hydra guard, probably wondering why he was talking to a man who was passed out cold. But Arnim didn’t care. This could be a pivotal moment in his career and he would express himself how he wished. He’d earned that right.

Guard number one returned with the stretcher and awaited further orders like any good Hydra flunky.

“Load him carefully and take him directly to my lab. It’s time to get started.”


	6. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In CA:TFA Colonel Phillips states that Cap went missing behind enemy lines on the 3rd (November) so I'm working on that time line - around 3 weeks - for Zola's experimentation on Bucky. Apologies if this chapter is a little methodical and detail focused but that's science for you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: I wanted to give Bucky a bit of a break before the bad stuff starts, so he gets to stay blissfully unaware for this chapter. Roughly based on the First Vengeance comic books. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – Just a little later…

Even with natural exhaustion playing its part, the sedative wouldn’t keep Barnes out for long. So as soon as they’d arrived in the ‘isolation ward’ Zola had set about using his Hydra helpers to allow him to record a baseline set of readings for his new subject, 725.

As much as Zola was optimistic about this particular run of his experiment, he had to remain focused and treat it with the same scientific rigour as his previous trials. He couldn’t let the feeling that he was on the verge of a breakthrough distract him, as much as he’d come to trust his instincts in this regard over the course of his life.

He took out his ledger and began taking his usual detailed notes. There would be some missing data, but if the first stages went well he’d have one of their agents in the US armed forces see if they could obtain the Sergeant’s Army file. In the meantime they’d placed him, still on the stretcher, atop a gurney, and the Doctor was now fully immersed in doing the tedious but important job of measuring and cataloguing.

He drew a few vials of blood from the currently unresisting patient, then grabbing a tape measure set about taking the necessary vital statistics. First height and other reference measurements, then onto weight using the scales he’d had fitted to this particular gurney, which were perfectly calibrated to give accurate readings for a subject lying down. Just shy of six foot it seems, and oh, he was almost exactly right with his estimate of the subject’s weight he was pleased to see.

To think he’d almost left medicine and the biological sciences behind in favour of his obsession with all things mechanical and technological. If Erskine had still been alive he would have thanked him for re-awakening his passion for his original vocation. It had opened up some truly fascinating avenues of study for him to investigate going forward.

On the gurney in front of him Barnes was beginning to stir, time it seems was ever the enemy.

Pausing a moment to consider his best next step, he moved back to his medical bag and removed yet another syringe, a swab and the sterilising alcohol. Preparing the correct dosage, he injected the next round of penicillin into another spot on Barnes’ left arm which was the closest to him.

He already had data about his serum’s ability to clear pneumonia from subject 724’s first treatments, as well as a few earlier trials, so there was little benefit in repeating that particular test. And allowing Barnes some time to heal naturally would only improve the likelihood that he’d survive the more troubling stages of the process. He noted down the dosage and time administered in his ledger, and now decided, started preparing an I.V. of fluids and a milder sedative to keep the Sergeant asleep while his body and the antibiotics dealt with the dangerous lung infection.

“Bring me the restraints,” Zola said quietly to no-one in particular. It’s not as if he could tell them apart with those ridiculous masks and goggles on.

“Where are they Herr Doctor?” one of the guards said in a voice far louder than Zola would have liked.

Clearly neither guard had had the pleasure of assisting him before.

“Quiet you fool,” he practically hissed. “Those straps over there,” he said pointing to a section of shelving across the lab. “Bring two, no three of those to me.”

Rolling up the arms of both sleeves of Barnes’ shirt and jacket he located the best vein for setting up his line and set about inserting a catheter.

The soldier groaned at the sharp feel of the needle going in and Zola drew back, going still for a moment to assess how close to coming around his patient actually was. The dose of sedative he’d chosen wouldn’t be anywhere near as effective on a conscious person, so he’d prefer to have Barnes remain peacefully asleep for the time being.

The guard returned – quietly - with the requested lengths of buckled leather, standing to one side.

No, I.V. first then the restraints.

Whilst protocol dictated he should secure the prisoner first sometimes circumstances dictated a little flexibility be employed.

He held up a hand to his erstwhile assistant, signalling him to stay in place and then swiftly fetched and positioned the pole, hung the bottle and attached the line to the catheter in Barnes’ arm before starting the drip. Luckily this was done without any reaction from the patient, and as the drug and fluids gradually transfused into his bloodstream, his still ragged breathing smoothed out a little and his sleep deepened once again.

He now turned and took the first of the restraints from the Hydra guard waiting by the gurney.

“You, come here.” Zola called over the second guard who had been standing at attention by the doorway.

He approached and Zola directed him to the other side of the Sergeant. He threaded one end of the restraint strap in his hand into the specially-fitted bracket on the gurney that was closest to the Sergeant’s upper arms.

Understanding his part in the proceedings, the second guard knelt down, reached under the metal trolley, and grabbing the end of the strap and pulling it towards him, set about threading it through the corresponding bracket on his side, before handing it across Barnes and back to the Doctor. Zola secured it snugly, but not too tightly around the Sergeant’s chest and shoulders, enough to restrict his movement but not impede his breathing.

The mismatched team then repeated the process, Zola taking and positioning the second strap across the Sergeant’s abdomen and lower arms and the third just below the knees. These he tightened more severely to prevent Barnes getting free if he somehow woke from his sedation – as unlikely as that was.

Zola checked the time. Still only 10am, wonderful. He had a good few hours to make some progress before his daily review of the Valkyrie’s construction status.

He moved across to the side of the lab where one of his equipment trolleys lay in wait and began loading it with the supplies he’d require for the rest of the morning. Placing a stethoscope around his neck he pushed the laden trolley back towards his newest patient and started mentally plotting out his ‘to do’ list.

Satisfied he had a logical, and more importantly, effective plan in place - including a few more baseline tests than he’d done with his previous test subjects - he grabbed a tongue depressor and his specially adapted thermometer, securing this in the Sergeant’s mouth to record his temperature, while he used the stethoscope to listen to his breathing. The infection was in both lungs but didn’t seem too severe, a culture wouldn’t be necessary unless he failed to respond to the treatment. Best check again in a few hours to evaluate his progress.

Next Zola picked up a scalpel and a ruler, and moving down the gurney pushed up the bottom of the subject’s shirt to reveal a slim, lightly muscled abdomen and slightly too prominent (and badly bruised) ribs – both signs of early malnutrition. Well he’d soon correct that. He made a mental note to start a nutrients drip after the rehydration drip was done.

Choosing a spot on the Sergeant’s stomach he lightly drew the scalpel along the ruler and over the skin until he had a delicate cut of exactly 3cm in length, pleased to see that his light touch meant that there’d been absolutely no reaction from his patient. He quickly sterilised the area.

He’d have to check on this every 10 minutes or so for the next few hours in order to record the subject’s natural healing abilities, but it would be valuable data for his work.

Ideally he’d like a full study of the young soldier’s current physical and mental capabilities, but he doubted any amount of persuasion would convince Barnes to cooperate with his captors. He’d have to settle for what he could get.

He set about measuring resting heart rate, and was onto BP before he remembered the two black-clad guards stood awaiting their next assignment. He had no current use for them but he couldn’t keep Barnes under sedation indefinitely. And if things went well he’d be keeping the Sergeant around a lot longer than his previous subjects, most of whom hadn’t lasted a week.

“You two go and prepare the isolation cell for our new guest. Then you are dismissed until 1800 hours.”

“Yes sir.”

“Yes sir.” The guards replied one after the other before moving to exit the lab at a brisk pace.

Zola paused for a moment wondering if they found his work distasteful. Did these sorts of men even have qualms?

Zola valued life, but as a devout Utilitarian he knew that these sacrifices were necessary for the betterment of mankind. His work was too important for hang-ups over morality and for him every death was indeed a failure.

Noting that the fluids bottle was finished he hunted down an intravenous food bottle and connected it up to the Sergeant’s line. He then checked the condition of his earlier incision. Clotting was already commencing he was happy to see. A good immune response was re-assuring especially with the injuries and illness his subject was already tackling.

With little else to do, he walked over to the occupied treatment table on the other side of the lab and looked down dispassionately at the silent, blinking form of 724.

From Schmidt’s earlier work with Erskine they knew the components that had been in the original serum if not the exact formula. And thanks to the recent capture and torture of a minor lab tech involved in Project Rebirth, they knew that Erskine had substituted a particular component for a less volatile one, and had switched from a chemical trigger to Vita Rays to initiate his super soldier transformation. However without the knowledge of exact proportions, doses and production methods, Zola’s process had developed fairly differently than the late Doctor Erskine’s single injection ‘magic trick’.

Through in vitro and animal testing he’d identified several key chemical combinations that triggered different stages of the transformation, and it was these he’d been trialling at different dosages and intervals with his previous subjects.

Thanks to 724, Zola now knew that a longer wait was required between the stage that boosted cell wall density and resilience, and the one that dramatically boosted respiration, metabolism, and the body’s other energy delivery systems. Sadly the resulting jump in core body temperature before the body had ‘adapted’, had caused severe organ and brain damage that even the serum was unable to fix. Though it was keeping 724 alive, and therefore a viable test subject for the toxicity and effectiveness of the muscle-enhancing stage 4 injection.

He picked up the pre-prepared vial of S4 and a syringe, and consulting his notes, drew out a dose slightly lower than the one that had killed subject 718 back when he was still trialling the individual stages.

724 carried on breathing.

He then gave the serum a good 10 minutes to work its way around the subject’s system before turning on the Vita Ray generator positioned above the table, pulling across the safety screen he’d had installed and stepping back.

No sound emerged from the effectively brain-dead patient as he was bathed in the almost blinding glow of the radiation. Zola drew back the curtain and a satisfied smile rapidly spread across his face.

724 was dead yes, that much was obvious, but the physical transformation had worked like a charm. He was ready.

He’d give the young Sergeant Barnes a day or two to heal but then it was time to change the world, his way. Unlike Erskine’s vision, for Zola this was merely a start. Hydra would win this war because it had the best weapons and he was the chief weapons designer after all.

It was time to check on the Sergeant’s healing again and then back to catalogue the physical changes to 724, before disposing of the remains. He’d leave that in the hands of his two helpers when they returned.

Yes this was turning out to be a very good day indeed.


	7. Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK-I’m aware that IV feeding wasn’t developed until the 60s, and understanding of vitamins and nutrients was in its infancy in the 40s but Hydra has always been a bit ahead of the curve…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Zola's starting off with the soft sell. But our Bucky is too smart and stubborn to let him get his way. All dodgy German is Google's fault. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – Two days later (second week of October)

To say that Barnes was proving obstinate was an understatement. Two days had passed since Zola had taken his initial readings before wrapping the unconscious Sergeant’s cracked ribs, removing the sedative drip, and having the guards transfer him to the isolation cell down the corridor. Zola had observed through the camera to see how long it took for the Sergeant to awake once the drugs were no longer pumping through his system. He’d woken quickly – another good sign – Zola been a little concerned about the effects of the prolonged sedation.

He’d watched as Barnes sat up and then eventually stood, taking in his new accommodations. Compared to the workers’ conditions it was a significant improvement. The rectangular cell was sizeable, taking up one-third of the room, and actually offered the luxury of a pallet bed to its sole occupant.

He saw the Sergeant absorbing this information about his new environment, and registered the look of surprise that briefly flashed across his face as he felt the bandages around his ribs. And as the antibiotics had been effective at their task he must also have noticed the improvement in his breathing.

However despite lacking any knowledge of what was planned, the young soldier had clearly decided he didn’t approve of his change in circumstances, and when a few moments later – clearly feeling something amiss – he’d pulled up his shirt to see a cut he didn’t remember getting now already half healed, along with the new needle marks on his arms and he’d clearly decided he didn’t like his situation one bit.

In the two days since he’d refused all food and water provided, and even the offer of using the bathroom facilities attached to the room, simply lying on the palette in silence.

Zola had allowed this behaviour to go unchallenged for the first day, seeing if hunger and thirst was enough to break the resolve of his problematic patient. But when this defiance continued into the second day, Zola decided a response was required. Earlier he’d ordered that all light be removed from the isolation cell, leaving the prisoner sat in total darkness for the last 12 hours. They’d also stopped supplying the continually rejected rations.

This was fairly mild correction and Zola hoped he wouldn’t be forced to escalate too soon. Besides, Barnes would soon learn how futile such childishness was. Once again he picked up his medical kit and went to meet his patient face-to-face, this time accompanied by three guards for practicality.

He and his black-clad entourage stood at the heavy door of the isolation cell. Zola raised his hand, silently signalling the troopers to wait, then slapped his palm on the lighting controls by the door, pushing them up instantly to their full power which was well above normal brightness.

The pained yell from the cell’s occupant was instantaneous, and not wanting to give him time to recover, Zola quickly donned his shaded goggles, opened the door, crossed to the cell, undid the lock, and ushered his guards inside to perform their assigned duties.

Temporarily blinded, Barnes was sat up on the palette trying to shield his overloaded eyes with his arms.

The guards piled in – it was a tight space for five men – and as instructed pushed the weakened and disoriented prisoner back onto the makeshift bed, pinning his arms and legs and once again leaving his eyes unprotected against the intense brightness bathing the room.

Protected from the glare Zola took his time before speaking. Tutting when he saw the involuntary tears forcing themselves from under Barnes’ ineffectually closed eyelids.

“Sergeant Barnes, I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. I am Doctor Arnim Zola and I am the one who has taken such care to treat your illness and injuries. Yet you seem adamant to undo all my hard work. This ingratitude won’t be tolerated. Will you start behaving in a rational manner? Or do we need to start treating you like a disobedient child?” Zola asked in his most reasonable tone of voice.

Unable to see or move, and clearly in severe discomfort from the intense light, Barnes simply clenched his jaw and remained silent.

“Why do you insist on being difficult when we only wish to make you well Sergeant?” Zola continued.

This actually provoked a dry and rasping laugh from the parched throat of the captive soldier. “Gee I wonder why that doesn’t reassure me,” he forced out in a sandpaper-rough voice.

Zola rolled his eyes, knowing the captive couldn’t see his reaction. He’d studied the psychology of breaking a prisoner extensively over the past few months, but these initial stages were proving irksome.

“I’ll ask you one last time Sergeant Barnes. Will you resume consuming your rations and obeying instructions?” Zola said placidly.

The Sergeant refused to answer.

Zola sighed in his most put upon manner. “Then you leave us no choice. We must do this for your own good.”

Zola snapped open the clasp of his medical bag and saw Barnes flinch at the sound. He drew out the prepared hypodermic filled with a mix of mild sedative and muscle relaxant – he wanted Barnes conscious this time – and moved to stand next to the guard holding down the Sergeant's right arm. They’d removed Barnes’ jacket before putting him in the cell, so it was the work of a moment to push up the soft sleeve of his undershirt and inject the drugs, despite his attempts at resistance.

Zola could see his struggles weakening as the cocktail of drugs took hold and leached the last remaining strength from the Sergeant’s body.

“Bring him,” Zola ordered. And two of the guards lifted the now very woozy American off the palette, and proceeded to half carry, half drag the captive by his arms, out of the jail and along the corridor to the lab. Zola and the third guard entered on their heels.

Addressing the lead guard, Feltz, in German this time, Zola ordered the men to secure Barnes to the now vacant procedural table while he set about gathering his chosen instruments. From the corner of his eye he saw Barnes react to his instructions and initiate yet another pointless struggle, despite his unresponsive limbs.

Clearly even when drugged the Sergeant’s grasp of German was fairly good – something else to note.

The three guards were easily able to manoeuvre the struggling captive onto the medical table and strap him down. Zola had upgraded the straps to a new high-tensile-strength fabric of his own design. Even if the procedure was successful these should be capable of restraining the end result.

Zola continued commanding the guards in German. Even though Barnes seemed to understand the language, it would still leave him feeling more isolated than hearing his native tongue.

Zola picked up a pair of large fabric shears from his trolley and handed these to Feltz.

“Entfernen seiner Uniform.” _Remove his uniform._

Yes from the looks of it Barnes’ understanding of German was good indeed.

One of the other guards held the prisoner still, while Feltz efficiently removed Barnes’ service boots and socks, and then cut the shirt open down the centre before doing the same to both sleeves and the sides of both pant legs, all while negotiating the restraints. He was definitely one of the least incompetent people they had on staff here.

Simply pushing the now shredded clothing away from the patient and leaving it hanging there was the most practical thing, but Zola did so abhor clutter. But still he’d let it be this once.

The drugs were making it difficult for Barnes to contain his reactions, and the disturbed look gracing his face showed that this tactic - crude as it was – combined with the still-lingering temporary blindness and the chemical cocktail flowing in his bloodstream was having the desired effect.

Clearly though the Sergeant’s eyes were starting to adjust, as he appeared to follow Zola’s movements as the Doctor approached the table.

“See Sergeant, if you force us to do these things in your place we will use the most expedient methods available to us. Don’t worry we’ll give you replacements once we’ve completed our check-up.”

He picked up the stethoscope and proceeded to do a quick check on Barnes’ breathing. He was almost surprised when the stubborn soldier didn’t attempt to hold his breath. The lungs seemed to be clearing up nicely.

“Your infection is almost gone Sergeant Barnes. You must be finding it easier to breath now correct?”

Zola refused to let the lack of response phase him. He could already tell that there was little chance of gaining the Sergeant’s trust and co-operation, so keeping him off-balance was the best he could hope for in order to record some accurate data from the tests he had planned.

He began examining the condition of the subject’s ribs. At least three ribs had been cracked and there was extensive bruising and muscular tares. Barnes flinched at every touch.

“I must apologise for the conduct of Colonel Lohmer,” Zola said more than half sincerely. “Despite what he may have led you to believe we are not savages. My only desire now is to help you heal.”

Barnes shot him a highly sceptical look.

“Indeed your welfare is of paramount importance to me,” Zola said, meaning every word. “So before I start medical intervention, I’ll give you the respect of asking one last time for your cooperation. Wouldn’t it be preferable for all of us to be able to act like the civilised men we are?”

“Go to hell, you German Nazi piece of shit.” Clearly the Sergeant meant that to be a ‘no’. He’d let that pass. This time.

“Actually Sergeant I am Swiss. Please remember I offered you a way to avoid all the unpleasantness.”

Zola promptly grabbed the first syringe from his equipment tray, looked for an unblemished spot on the Sergeant’s arm, and efficiently administered the injection.

“That was simply a final dose of antibiotics to clear up the last of your pneumonia. Now I’ll be setting up a line for fluids and a nutrient mix of my own creation. I’m afraid this will require placing a larger needle in your arm,” the Doctor said picking up the aforementioned I.V. needle.

“This may pinch a little.” He inserted the large-gauge needle into the vein at Barnes’ elbow and hooked up the two bottles to drip into the line. “But I’d prefer to avoid force-feeding you, at least for the moment. It has unnecessary risks. This however will do nothing to combat hunger, so it’s up to you how much you suffer in that regard.”

Zola turned to Feltz once again, “Watch him and make sure he doesn’t dislodge anything. I’ll return in 10 minutes.”

Zola then headed up into his office-slash-observation-area to make his notes while everything he’d done was still fresh in his mind. He’d move into phase one trials tomorrow he decided. That would mend all of the Sergeant’s existing injuries, and allow them more leeway to use a few more persuasion tactics then he’d currently been willing to employ. That at least would give his guards more to keep them occupied.

He emerged exactly as the last drops of the solution were emptying into the catheter, and moved closer watching as they progressed along the line and gradually passed into the American’s body. There was so much unknown about physiology, so much potential locked in the human form and he was determined to uncover and exploit all the secrets. And he, or rather Hydra he should say, would use them to reshape the world.

Stirring himself from his musings, he disconnected the I.V. and removed the needle from Barnes’ arm, and carefully sterilised the area. “There we are Sergeant. It would be preferable not to have to make this a daily occurrence. The injection I gave you earlier should be starting to wear off so let’s see if you are capable of standing shall we?”

Zola signalled for the guards to release the straps holding the young man onto the bench, and they then hauled him up – none too gently - and placed him unsteadily on his bare feet. Barnes was gripping his left arm which was starting to look angry with the number of puncture marks scattered along it. No matter, those would soon be taken care of.

“These men will escort you to some bathing facilities where you can clean yourself up. Do this and we will provide you with a new uniform.”

Barnes gave him a considering look. “And if I don’t?” he rasped out.

“Then you remain in your current state and we find a more creative solution to achieve the same end. I believe we have a room with a hose.”

Barnes nodded once, more an affirmation to himself than anything, and was then manhandled out of the lab by the three Hydra guards.

The next time Zola saw him was on the monitor that showed the interior of the isolation cell. He was dressed in the replacement uniform, one of the ones Hydra had liberated from a Red Cross supply convoy. Clearly Barnes had decided to pick his battles for the present. 

Zola knew this was in no way a sign that the Sergeant was now going to do as he wanted. This was most likely strategic thinking on the prisoner’s part, but the adaptability it showed was a definite positive sign about the Sergeant’s capabilities.

Zola was starting to enjoy this battle of wills, even though the eventual victor was in no doubt.

He'd leave him be for the night. Tomorrow would prove interesting to say the very least.


	8. Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick bridging chapter before we get down to the nasty stuff...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Yes that well-known torture technique of treating your prisoner to a nice breakfast. What on earth am I (or rather is Zola) doing? Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Isolation Level – The following day (second week of October – Day One of Testing)

Arnim was in a rare mood this morning. He’d woken with a sense of anticipation and excitement that had been missing for him of late.

With the monotony of producing plane parts and arranging shipping, materials delivery and work shifts he’d started to feel more than a little frustrated. However, with his intention to start his first run on what he was sure was now a viable super soldier therapy, today was sure to alleviate that mental stagnation.

He’d cleared his schedule to focus on preparing and carrying out every step perfectly. Of course he’d first have to get his unwilling test subject to the lab.

He’d planned out every element, which was why he was now making his way, guards in tow, along the corridor to the isolation cell, carrying a pair of specially-prepared breakfast trays from the kitchen. Zola didn’t know if the other two were the same guards as yesterday, but he’d requested Feltz be assigned to him for the foreseeable future, and it was his capable pair of hands that were currently unlocking the door of the room and holding it open to allow the Doctor to enter.

They were making more than enough noise to wake up the lightly slumbering Sergeant Barnes. The young man was clearly exhausted but still in a state of high alert. He sat up watching them approach. Zola idly wondered if he’d feel worse or better once he knew their actual intentions towards him. Somehow he doubted the Sergeant would be willing to satisfy his curiosity on the matter.

Zola moved over to the basic wood table and two chairs that were set up against the opposite wall from the cell, placed there for the guards’ use on the odd occasion that they were required to stand watch over one of the prisoners. He set down the two trays on its surface, and lowered himself onto a seat.

“Join me please won’t you Sergeant Barnes.” It wasn’t a request but it was in Zola’s nature to keep up the civilities even in these wartime conditions.

Feltz unlocked the cell door and swung it open wide, standing just off to one side.

Though clearly unsure it was the best of ideas, Barnes stood and cautiously made his way out of the iron enclosure. One of the other guards, clearly feeling a bit surplus to requirements, and possibly that he wasn’t earning his Hydra wages without a little daily physical abuse towards the prisoners, helped him on his way with an aggressive shove to the back as he passed.

Zola scowled disapprovingly at the guard, “There’s no need for that, I’m sure the Sergeant is now feeling well enough to manage without any added assistance. Corporal,” turning to Feltz he gave him a pointed look, “please take your men and wait outside until I call.”

Feltz simply nodded and did as asked, leaving the Doctor alone with Barnes who was still stood ill at ease some way from the table. Yes an eminently useful man to be sure.

Zola turned his focus back to the young Sergeant. “Please sit. I’ve brought us breakfast. Pick whichever serving you want. I will have the other.”

He knew the platters he’d had prepared were unspeakably superior to what was served to the prisoners. There were boiled eggs, fresh bread and fruit, and a selection of cheese and pastries. It was leagues above army food as well. For a man who hadn’t eaten in three days it must have seemed like a crazed-hunger-dream come true, yet Barnes took a seat and pointedly ignored the edible incentives in front of him. Arnim found himself almost liking this young man in spite of himself.

He gestured towards the two trays “I’m afraid I must insist.”

Barnes pulled one arbitrarily closer to him, but made no movement towards eating the content.

Zola on the other hand launched into the food on the other tray with enthusiasm. “I meant what I said yesterday Sergeant Barnes, I would much prefer your co-operation going forward to the alternative. I’m sure you have many questions, and I am giving you this opportunity to get them answered. You simply have to indulge me a little and share this meal with me. I so rarely have time to properly sit down and enjoy the simpler things.”

“So let me get this straight,” Barnes said in a clearer voice then he’d been capable of the day before. “I simply eat something and you tell me anything I want to know?”

“Within reason, and you must agree to eat the meals we provide and keep yourself presentable. I am a man of my word Sergeant,” Zola said only with a hint of defensiveness. “I will answer truthfully.”

Barnes looked thoughtful.

“And if I don’t what will happen?” he asked bluntly.

“I believe your friends in the cells have just had their rations re-started after their suspected misdeeds. Which were on your behalf I believe? Starving yourself would be a poor way to repay their sacrifices.”

“Leave them out of this,” Barnes uttered in a tone that made it sound somewhere between a plea and a threat.

“That is exactly what I wish to do Sergeant, but you must realise how lenient I’ve been already with what they are suspected of. Really it is entirely in your hands as to what we do from this point onwards,” Zola said with an apologetic shrug.

There was a moment of pensive silence until…“ok” Barnes murmured quietly.

“What was that Sergeant?” Zola wanted total clarity at this point of his proceedings.

“OK, I’ll do what you’ve asked, I’ll eat. Just don’t make them suffer, they’re good men.” The loyalty was commendable; doubly so if it could be reapplied.

“Then please eat Sergeant, I assure you it is excellent. I apologise that there is no meat, I do not eat it so it was left out at my request, but I will have some added to your subsequent meals.”

Barnes picked up the supplied fork and began to consume the food in the tray in front of him at a surprisingly slow pace considering his obvious hunger. Zola knew this capitulation would probably only last for the few hours until the first stages got under way, but it was a victory he had felt the need to attain.

The tray was eventually cleared, though with much the same enthusiasm as a condemned man might have in taking his last meal, despite the quality of the fare.

“These men will now escort you to the wash facilities, I expect you to follow their prompts without incident and report to the ward in 20 minutes. Do you understand Sergeant?”

Barnes raised his dark head from where his gaze had been fixed on the table and meeting Zola’s eyes gave a sharp nod of agreement.

“Now what is your question?” Zola enquired with real curiosity.

“These parts, in the factory, what are they for?”

Zola was unable to contain his surprise. “Nothing about your own situation Sergeant?”

Barnes shrugged, “I figure you’ll do what you want with me regardless. I don’t know why you’re trying to make me think I have any power over any of it, but I’ll take whatever I can get.”

Zola locked eyes with the younger man across the table and gave him an appraising stare. He was an excellent soldier.

“The parts are for a new warplane, a super bomber, and the energy weapons it is designed to use on Hydra’s enemies.” Barnes looked surprised that he’d received the answer promised, but then his eyes hardened.

“You don’t believe me Sergeant?” Zola enquired.

“I do. But it’s occurred to me that the only reason you’d tell me the truth is because I’m not getting out of here. Am I?” Barnes said grimly.

“On the contrary Sergeant Barnes, I very much hope that you do,” Zola replied. Barnes just gave him a puzzled look in return.

“Corporal Feltz!” Zola called out. Feltz re-entered the room with the other guards following. “Take him. I want him in the ‘treatment room’ in 20 minutes’ time, no later,” Zola commanded.

“Yes sir.” Feltz approached the table with the other guards in his wake, and made a move to pull the younger soldier up out of his seat, but Barnes shrugged off the reaching hand, and stood up of his own accord.

“I’ll go.”

Feltz looked at Zola for approval, who gave a small nod of agreement. Barnes walked out of the room with the guards surrounding but not touching him, giving him the air of a dangerous individual, which sat oddly on the current reality of the recovering POW. Zola was amused by the irony of the potential foreshadowing that was obvious to him alone.

This was exactly what he’d hoped would be the end result of this conversation. In 20 minutes he’d receive the first of his test subjects who’d walked into his lab of their own free will. Or at least something that was a close enough approximation for his particular needs.

He’d send someone for the trays later, now he had to hurry back to ready the last few elements. There was a long way to go, but the possibilities if this worked…it was truly thrilling to contemplate.


	9. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts...  
> I’ve now got Zola inventing the mechanical respirator 5 years before its creation, but he is an evil genius after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Poor Bucky :(. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – 20 minutes later (Day one of testing)

He was ready.

Eight terrifyingly large needles were lined up on the surgical tray, four filled with a disturbingly luminescent bluey-green fluid and the other four empty. He also had his anaesthetic on hand, sat ready to use in a standard sized syringe, looking almost innocent in comparison to its companions.

He’d developed the delivery system for Stage 1 through a great deal of trial and error, and he knew it was far more invasive than Erskine’s method.

He still wasn’t sure how Erskine had targeted so many disparate systems with a single serum and injection process, or indeed how it acted so quickly, but then genetics and biochemistry weren’t his primary field and yet he was still achieving revolutionary things.

If anything he felt that his staggered method might actually attain better results; at the cost of far more discomfort for the subject of course but that couldn’t be helped.

Still best not to get ahead of himself when he had yet to achieve a successful live trial. He heard the sound of approaching footsteps and turned to greet his ‘guests’.

Barnes was herded into the room on the dot by his slightly over enthusiastic security detail. Clearly the news was out that Hydra was now fully independent and they were all trying to prove their worth to the new high command of which Zola was a part. Barnes in contrast was a study of steely determination.

He clearly knew horrors of some form awaited him and was determined to face them head on it would appear.

“I don’t know anything,” Barnes suddenly stated. “I doesn’t matter what you do to me, I’ve got nothing of any value to you.”

“That is for me to judge Sergeant. But talking is not what I want from you today. In fact it would be most beneficial to all concerned for you to be incapable of that very thing for the near future.”

Barnes visibly swallowed his fear, “What do you mean?”

“I’m afraid my work today will go most smoothly if you are unconscious, at least for the bulk of the procedure." 

“Procedure?” Barnes took a step back.

“Yes I shall need to put you to sleep I’m afraid. There will be some discomfort when you wake up but that should fade quickly once the process is complete.”

Barnes inched backwards again almost involuntarily.

“Come now Sergeant, you were expecting some pointless torture, isn’t it better to know you will be doing something that will benefit mankind?”

“Not really no,” Barnes replied deadpan. “Being a lab rat wasn’t exactly on my ‘to do’ list.”

Zola gave him a tight smile. This delay was irritating, and he was on the verge of simply ordering the guards to pick Barnes up and carry him to the table, but he knew it would be best to play this scene out.

“I would explain my work but I doubt you’d grasp the technicalities. However I can assure you that though there will be pain you will be…” he chose his word carefully, “undamaged by what we do here today. Furthermore if you agree not to fight the process, even just for today, I will guarantee the safety of your friends while they are in custody. “

Barnes raised his eyes from where they had been resting on the instrument tray with its ranks of needles and met Zola’s. He seemed to draw himself up, and then gave a single decisive nod of his head as if he couldn’t stand to say the word aloud.

Zola felt a surge of satisfaction, “Very good. Then please be seated Sergeant” he said gesturing to the medical bench, now only reachable from the side he stood due to an assortment of padded blocks, cushions and a large mechanical device all arranged on the floor along the other side.

Barnes gave them a curious look as he approached - guards close behind - but made no enquiries about their purpose. He sat down on the edge of the bench slowly.

Zola turned, doused a cotton swab with disinfectant and picked up the anaesthetic injection. “Your arm please Sergeant.” Barnes reluctantly rolled up his right-hand sleeve and presented his already needle-mark-marred forearm to the Doctor and looked the other way. Zola quickly delivered the drug.

“I’ll need you to count backward from ten for me.”

“Ten, nine,” Barnes ground out from between clenched teeth.

“Eight,” his voice was already softening.

“Seven,” he seemed to be having difficulty focusing and was starting to sway.

Zola beckoned the nearest guard over.

“Siixxx…” that’s it, he was going.

The guard - Feltz unsurprisingly - caught him as he slumped and lay him back on the padded table.

Zola tilted Barnes’ head back to open up his airway fully and then wheeled over the large device. It was a machine of his own devising, a mechanical pump that would assist breathing and also keep a patient under anaesthetic through a mix of gas and air.

He set the machine going and attached up the sterile breathing tube. Then with the assistance of a tongue depressor and two of the guards, he inserted the large tube down Barnes’ throat and into his airway. From there it was a simple matter of removing the Sergeant’s uniform – once again Feltz with scissors in hand carried this out with great efficiency – and arranging the blocks and cushions to prop Barnes up at an angle somewhere between lying on his left side and on his front, all without compromising his ribs or his breathing.

This done Zola picked up the iodine and began painting points along the young soldier’s spine, before pulling down one side of the waistband of his shorts - all he’d been left wearing except for his dog tags - and staining his right hip with the bright orange substance. He picked up the first of the large empty needles and pushed it forcefully into the protruding hip bone. Confident he’d reached his target he pulled up the plunger withdrawing a measure of fluid from inside the bone. This would be useful for testing.

Stage 1 of his process was aimed at boosting the immune system and repair processes, so the best place to target the treatment was at the bone marrow.

He picked up the first of the almost luminescent syringes of serum and withdrawing the original syringe, used the same puncture point to give him easy access for inserting the supercharging chemical combination.

Removing the fluid first was necessary to maintain the correct fluid pressure and make sure the newly introduced liquid was absorbed as effectively as possible.

He repeated this process at the base and mid-point of the spine, before very carefully doing the final collection and injection close to the brain stem.

There, it has finally begun.

He set about removing the breathing apparatus from his subject’s mouth and shutting off the anaesthesia. Not much would happen until the serum was triggered by a Vita Ray burst of course, but that would have to wait until Barnes was awake.

He’d be in significant pain when he came around, and even more so once the radiation treatment started, but Zola needed to establish the Sergeant’s tolerance levels, and that couldn’t be done accurately under the effects of painkillers so they’d have to be administered mid procedure.

He sighed, all the screaming was bound to bring on a headache.


	10. Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short but snappy chapter. Sorry couldn't help myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: OK so technically Bucky has to take this lying down, but he's not going to go quietly. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – 2 days later (Day three of testing)

"Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant 32557038.”

“Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant 32557038.”

“Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant 32557038.”

Zola did his best to drown it out, but the repetition really was becoming unbearable. The Sergeant was well on his way to earning himself another beating. Luckily his body could take it now.

Stage 1 had been a complete success. By the time the guards had peeled the then somewhat loopy patient off the treatment bed, all the needle marks on his arms from the previous injections had vanished, and the bruising that had started to develop around the larger puncture wounds was fading into non-existence.

Zola had been exceedingly pleased.

The Sergeant had virtually passed out on reaching his cell, and Zola was able to spend a contented few hours writing his notes and analysing the spinal fluid he’d taken from the man in case it revealed anything interesting.

The next morning however the Sergeant had to be dragged out of his cell by the guards for his follow up exam. Clearly he’d reached his limit of co-operation.

He still ate and was using the facilities when directed, keeping up his side of the agreement he’d made to keep his men safe, but he refused to let a guard get near him unless they took him down punching and kicking.

They’d eventually got him into the lab, and from an initial examination it seemed as though the Sergeant’s cracked ribs had repaired themselves overnight. An X-ray confirmed it.

It really did seem as though Barnes had responded better to the serum than any of his previous subjects. Though nothing obvious had shown up in the work-ups Zola had done.

It was so curious that of course he’d felt the need to explore this more rigorously. So this morning they’d delivered a cup of drugged water - to give Feltz and his men a break for the most part - and Zola had performed a surgical break on one of the bones in the Sergeant’s leg.

He knew exactly how long this type of break should take to heal on average, so this was a perfect test of the subject’s new healing capabilities. This however required keeping him strapped-down in the lab for most of the day, so Zola could examine the injury every couple of hours and keep the broken limb stationary.

He’d also discovered that Barnes was now processing the anaesthetic drugs much faster than previously, which was totally unexpected at this point of the proceedings.

Of course he’d only discovered this when he noticed the stress signs of pain being displayed by the young man. He’d refused to ask the Doctor for any additional relief. Foolish.

So he’d hooked him up to a rather potent mix of painkillers and sedatives on a slow drip while the healing process took place. But apparently Barnes wasn’t enjoying his drug-induced trip.

He’d started up his mantra of name, rank and serial number as soon as they’d kicked in.

Clearly he was trying to ground himself in the repetition. And my wasn’t it annoying.

Zola suspected that aggravating him might also have been at least part of the Sergeant’s motivation.

Oh well just a few more hours until he could take his X-rays and see exactly what he’d managed to achieve.


	11. Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making Zola happy is a painful process.
> 
> Sodium thiopental is commonly known as truth serum, in low doses it increases suggestibility making prisoners more open to interrogation or mental manipulation. It doesn't actually make you tell the truth despite the name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Ouch. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – The following day (Day four of testing, Mid October)

Zola was astounded by the results.

He sat analysing the set of X-rays he’d taken of his patient the previous day. The leg had taken just hours to fuse, and after 14 hours looked as though it had never been anything other than whole. The ribs were now unblemished, and the lungs showed no sign of the pneumonia infection Barnes had still battled until a few days ago.

He also suspected that some old scars that had graced the Sergeant’s body were also now gone. Truly remarkable.

After much consideration he’d decided to bring forward Stage 2 of the process for Barnes. He’d now had the Sergeant under his care for longer than 80% of his previous test subjects had survived.

While the benefits of this had been obvious, it had also resulted in a prolonged strain on the Sergeant’s systems. They’d boosted his calorie intake, though clearly not enough to compensate and the weight was noticeably staring to fall off once again. He’d have to move him onto a four-meal a day plan after this.

However the subject’s body as it was simply couldn’t support this level of activity. So today would be the turn of the serum designed to reinforce the cells.

He’d contemplated drugging the Sergeant’s food or drink once again, but felt this should be a last resort. They needed him to consume as much as possible of what they gave him and repeatedly dosing the meals could backfire. So today he’d given the guards permission to be a little more…forceful.

It was time Barnes learnt his place anyway. However, he clearly should have emphasised the requirement for some restraint, because when the guards finally arrived with Barnes he was being carried hung between them and he was barely conscious.

Zola looked at Feltz for an explanation. “Baton to the back of the head,” the guard provided. “He resisted transfer a little more strenuously than usual.”

Zola then noticed the black eye and split lip of one guard and the fact that another was favouring his right leg. “Clearly. Place him on the table.”

At least he’d be easy to secure.

This infusion would be a simple intravenous process. He wouldn’t need to drug the Sergeant until he was under the Vita Ray generator and his concussion should have cleared by then.

He fastened the restraints securely and quickly set up the I.V. line. Barnes, still only semi-conscious was mumbling something. Zola overheard the name Steve but couldn’t make the rest out. It was of no importance.

This version of the serum was a rather fetching pale blue in colour. As he hooked it up to gently trickle down the line the effect was almost hypnotic. It would not take long for the liquid to be fully absorbed into Barnes’ bloodstream and transported into his cells, but Zola had learnt from his previous errors and would give in more time than the minimum required.

Anyway he had much of importance he could do while he waited, not the least of which was watching with fascination as the marks from the run-in with the guards faded before the Doctor’s eyes.

He’d just received a video camera and had hoped to record the process, but as he’d not yet had the opportunity to set it up in the lab with everything else currently on his plate, it would simply have to wait for another occasion.

He carefully mixed up a solution of strong painkillers spiked with just a touch of sodium thiopental . If he’d calculated correctly, which he was hopeful he had, it should enable him to make a start on the other dimension of the project. He only had the window between this stage and the next to make use of the advantages drugs would give him, so he’d best make full use of the pharmaceuticals while he had the chance.

Barnes was coming around. No matter, the serum by now should have properly saturated his body. He wheeled the Vita Ray generator into position and flipped the switch. He waited to see Barnes’ initial reaction to the energy burst.

He was still for a moment before violently arching up as far as he could get off the table with the restraints holding him down, before thrashing wildly and emitting a guttural moaning sound that soon escalated to a harsh scream.

Zola pulled across the screen and made a note of the time. This first exposure would only last around 5 minutes, so he put on the ear protectors he'd created to deaden the sounds coming from Barnes, and contented himself with some simple clearing and organising of the lab.

The seconds ticked away quickly, though probably less so for Sergeant Barnes.

Zola cut the power and pushed back the screen, before removing his auditory protection. The scream stopped almost instantly, but Barnes when he was revealed was sweat-soaked and still racked with involuntary shudders.

“Why… are you …doing this?” Barnes uttered, still gasping for breath.

Zola ignored him, instead reaching over to place two fingers against the Sergeant’s neck and take his pulse. It was faster than he would have liked and the skin was hot to the touch.

One previous subject had screamed out that this particular stage felt like having your blood boiled, and from the amount of heat the Sergeant was now emitting he may have had a point.

Zola crossed the lab picking up a cloth before heading to the sink, saturating it with cold water, and wringing it out. He moved back to Barnes’ side and placed it over his brow. It was clearly needed, the Sergeant didn’t even try to avoid the contact, and his head was the only part of his body he had any freedom of movement with.

The Doctor left it in place for a few minutes before once again testing Barnes’ temperature by placing a hand on his neck. It was a fine line he was walking here. If the body overheating caused more damage than the enhanced healing could correct for then he could lose his most promising test subject to date. But if the exposure wasn’t sufficient then the serum wouldn’t fully initialise and the cellular integrity wouldn’t be boosted by any significant amount.

He decided that maybe employing a few precautionary measures to protect the brain wouldn’t be unwise. After all he was keen to see the effect a successful Stage 3 would have on neural pathways, hard to do if the neurons suffered extensive damage at this point. Plus he had an ice box set up in the lab for the storage of his samples. He considered asking one of the guards to fetch what he required, but time was short and he knew exactly what he wanted preparing.

He removed the almost dry fabric from Barnes’ forehead and quickly grabbed two sizeable pieces of cotton cloth from one of the shelves. He quickly re-soaked his original cooling aide and one other piece of the cotton which he then placed in the ice box to chill, and then selected a few of the smaller ice blocks, wrapping them up securely in the remaining square of material. He moved back to the table and placed the damp cloth back in its original position and taking the ice bundle attempted to place it behind the young man’s neck. However the patient was now refusing to co-operate.

Zola needed to reduce the temperature of the blood in the brain stem to be safe and this was the most efficient way he knew to do it. Barnes already seemed half delirious from the still lingering pain and the fever currently raging in his body.

Zola considered his options for a second or two and then reached to run his fingers through Barnes’ sweat-soaked, dark chestnut hair.

“Shush Sergeant Barnes, everything is all right. You are unwell and we are simply trying to make you better. Steve wants you to get better. It will all be all right.”

He always tried his best to be as truthful as possible. Science couldn’t thrive without complete objectivity.

The guards couldn’t contain their surprised reactions; they’d never seen him display anything less than clinical dispassion for his subjects Arnim supposed. But failure was not something he was willing to tolerate again. And Schmidt for all his other many focuses would also be expecting success, and soon.

This soldier was going to be one of his finest creations and the possessiveness he felt over his works was beginning to kick in. Yes he would belong to Hydra but he would always be Zola’s first. At least if he survived. Let the guards think what they wanted; each move he made was necessary and immaculately considered as they’d soon witness.

He slowly moved his right hand through the Sergeant’s damp hair until it rested at the back of his head, and then gently with his left hand located the pressure point at the base of his skull which he then pressed lightly. The muscles in the taunt neck relaxed, and Zola was able to raise his head from the bench and place the ice-filled cloth behind it.

The suddenly cold seemed to shock the young soldier back into lucidity and he jerked away from Zola’s touch. But the Doctor’s objective had been achieved.

He paused a moment before deciding to make one last adjustment. Grabbing the shears he destroyed yet another uniform shirt. It would be easier for the body to radiate more heat without the fabric in the way. They were running short on replacements but they’d find something.

He moved back towards the Vita Ray emitter to start the next burst.

“Don’t!” Barnes was now looking him in the eye, his gaze desperate.

Zola continued the last step, adjusting the settings to reduce the intensity of the rays and extend the duration of the exposure.

“I’m afraid we must continue. There is no telling what would occur if we stopped at this stage.”

Six minutes would do nicely.

Barnes’ breathing grew faster. Zola paused, finger on the switch, turning to look back at the panicked prisoner.

“Of course I could give you something for the pain. All you have to do is ask.”

Barnes’ eyes suddenly became fierce. “Fuck you,” was the reply.

Good.

Zola nodded to the nearest guard who stepped over and punched Barnes once, forcefully, in the side. A pained grunt issued forth.

“Manners Sergeant. They cost so little after all.” With that he flicked the switch and withdrew pulling the shield back in place.

The sounds of intense pain started only seconds later, and Zola stepped back to the desk to retrieve his sound-cancelling headgear.

There were three more rounds to go following this one. Barnes would ask. They all did in the end.

Six minutes later they played out the scene again. This time Barnes was too physically exhausted to resist being handled by the Doctor as he replaced the ice in the saturated bundle behind his neck, and switched the cloth on his forehead with the chilled fabric from the ice box.

“You can make this so much easier on yourself. Ask for my help and the pain can go away.”

“No.” Barnes managed to force out between trembling lips as his body vibrated with aftershocks.

Zola shook his head in disappointment, flicked the switch and cleared the area once again. This time the screams were quieter, he didn’t even bother with his ear guards.

Two more.

This time Zola simply wiped the sweat off the Sergeant’s overheated face, neck and chest as the mantra of name, rank and serial number was mumbled at low volume by the American.

He sent Feltz off to fetch a metal bathtub and a larger volume of ice from a storage room down the corridor. He’d need to dramatically lower his subject’s temperature at the end of the final treatment cycle.

Again.

Minutes later as the machine powered down, he heard that desperate invocation of self start up again, around pained gulping breathes that verged on silent sobs. And the Sergeant's now almost vacant gaze revealed his attempt to mentally escape the experience he was going through.

Feltz had returned and was preparing the ice bath. Very good.

Zola picked up the syringe he’d prepared earlier. This would be the final Vita Ray exposure of Stage 2. He quickly injected his carefully-crafted drug mix into the Sergeant’s arm.

This part now wouldn’t be Science, it would be art. A little 'elaboration' would be called for.

“Well done Sergeant. I knew you’d make the correct choice, the smart choice. Only a fool wouldn’t ask and avoid unnecessary suffering.”

The heady dose of heavy-duty painkillers was already taking effect judging by the dilated pupils in Barnes’ unfocused and now confused eyes.

The rote repetition stopped. “What? But I…” He was struggling to finish thoughts. Hopefully that meant the sodium thiopental was playing its part and making the young soldier more suggestible.

“You did the right thing, and this will be much easier for you due to your co-operation,” Zola continued.

The expression of denial deepened on Barnes’ features but there was a hint of uncertainty there as well.

Zola stroked the hair off the Sergeant’s forehead causing him to flinch. “Just a few more minutes and this will all be over my boy, you’ll see.”


	12. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Science experiments don't always go the way you expect...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Clearly Bucky decided to scupper Zola's progress on purpose. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – Two days later (Day six of testing, Mid October)

Zola was cycling through a string of different emotions - confusion, anger, frustration and disappointment being the primary ones. He simply didn’t understand what had happened.

At least not yet.

It hadn’t worked.

After the –fairly amusing he had to admit – ice bath treatment that resulted in three very wet and disgruntled Hydra troopers, they’d thrown Barnes - Subject 725, Zola corrected himself – back into his cell naked, shivering, and clearly disoriented.

Zola had worried he was in danger of slipping into shock, but knew he should stabilise given some time. His new constitution really was remarkable.

They threw in a large blanket which 725 had cocooned himself in, showing his temperature had clearly returned to normal. He’d left him alone for a day to recover and adapt, not bothering to offer replacement clothing on this occasion as his planned tests would simply necessitate its removal anyway. Plus they were running low.

So here they were the following day.

The guards had pulled him out of the cell again, this time rather ingeniously using the blanket to restrain Barnes’ arms and legs while they transported him to the lab. Luckily this had meant less physical damage to the prisoner and blankets they had plenty of.

Zola had taken blood and tissue samples from his furiously glaring test subject, this time only opting for a local anaesthetic while taking the biopsies.

He’d been so sure that 725 would be his breakthrough, yet now here he was looking through a microscope and at a complete loss. He pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

There was no change. It made no sense.

In all his previous trials, from in vitro, to animal, to human, the S2 serum had produced a noticeable physical transformation in the cells; thickening cell walls and increasing bone density were just a few of the effects he’d catalogued. However, the tissue and blood cells now magnified under his scope looked mundanely, crushingly, normal.

And even more baffling was the fact that while still hugely accelerated, the subject’s rapid healing had now slowed considerably. He’d actually had to clean and dress the incisions he’d made this time.

Zola was at a complete loss.

He ordered Feltz to return the prisoner to the cell and decided to work on another of his projects to distract himself. Maybe his subconscious would reveal some insight or suggestion if he shifted his focus elsewhere for a while.

It was only a matter of time before Schmidt returned, and if he hadn’t solved this puzzle by then he was not looking forward to the encounter that would follow his report. No, not one bit.


	13. Transitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three is the magic number. And the return of the Red Skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: The Tesseract thing is my head canon as to why Zola was never able to repeat the success he had with Bucky. His serums were flawed, and would always have killed the recipients until the Tesseract's presence 'blended' them. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – Three days later (Day nine of testing, Late October)

Three days later Zola was no closer to an answer.

Today was a Friday and he’d been told to expect Schmidt’s arrival at some point in the weekend. He’d kept Barnes in isolation while he tried to figure this all out.

So far he’d managed to confirm that the Stage 2 serum was still in Barnes’ system. He’d even gone back to in vitro tests to confirm the formulation still had the same impact on living tissue. Everything worked as it should. Why it hadn’t in Subject 725’s body was still a mystery.

He had a decision to make. Continue on or terminate this trial here and now. He examined his options.

No. All results were valuable in their own right, and this subject had already thrown up so many interesting results he’d not seen in any other patient. It was almost as if the different serums were combining in his body in a unique way. He had to see where this went. Even if it was only death.

Schmidt would likely be displeased whatever he chose.

The only viable solution to his predicament was to run Stage 3 as soon as possible. And hope for the best.

He was unprepared which was so very unlike him.

He hunted down the S3 serum. The oddly blue black solution was in a vial to one side of his ongoing Tesseract research, looking much darker in the device’s pale blue glow.

This formulation was supposed to enhance and accelerate all the body’s energy systems. But he’d already seen some of the expected side effects of this stage after the earlier two treatments with Barnes. It was almost as if the different serums were somehow exchanging properties.

Zola gazed suspiciously at the otherworldly energy source. But that’s all it was and that couldn’t have any impact on his samples. It was all most odd.

He picked up the vial and prepared three hypodermics, all with large barrels and long, fine needles.

From earlier experimentation he’d concluded that the sooner his S3 serum reached the heart, brain and lungs the better. This meant direct injections into the carotid artery and jugular veins.

Arnim looked around. He’d dismissed his usual team of guards when they arrived this morning. While he was mulling over his – well not failure, setback maybe – he had no use for them.

He stepped away from his equipment and strode out of the lab door, something he’d not done in the past eight hours while he tried to isolate the cause of his current lack of progress. Entering the corridor he looked for the usual lone guard that should be stationed there. Yes there was Koller as per usual.

“Private. Please find Feltz and ask him to bring Sergeant Barnes to me at once.”

He quickly turned on his heels without even waiting for a response from Koller, and went to his office to gather his electrodes and other monitoring equipment. This time he’d get as many readings as possible. More data was all he needed.

He caught sight of movement on the monitor showing the isolation room and turned to watch as Feltz, Koller, and one other Hydra soldier, entered the cell, batons in hand and surrounded Barnes. The Sergeant was sat in the corner of the prison, knees up tight to his chest, making himself as small a target as possible. Zola knew that wouldn’t delay things for too long.

Feltz directed his two fellows to approach at each side while he took the head on route. Koller struck first, swinging at Barnes’ right side with his baton. The guard on the left – name unknown – repeated the attack from the opposite side. Barnes merely shielded his head (like a boxer Zola noted) and took the hits.

The two guards struck again and again; this time together, the next time alternating blows.

Then suddenly Feltz, who’d simply watched to this point, lunged in low, grabbing Barnes around the ankles and pulled while moving backwards, dragging the young soldier out of the corner and along the floor of the cell.

Barnes managed to get one leg free and get in a sound kick, but it was too late and the other two had him by the arms. They would be in the lab in moments.

It was an ingenious strategy, Zola mused. He really must put Feltz forward for a promotion.

Barnes was definitely becoming more difficult to handle.

There was no guarantee that the American would survive the S3 trial, especially without the protection afforded by the S2 serum being in effect, but if he made it through the next few hours, Zola would send for some chains to be fitted to the cell. Restricting his movement would be a wise move anyway with the amount of energy his enhanced system would then be burning through.

When they literally carried the struggling Sergeant into the room, his hands and legs had been bound, but he was still making things difficult for the men trying to keep hold of his twisting, twitching form. Zola sighed, quickly prepared a syringe of tranquillisers and plunged it into the Sergeant's thigh. It wouldn’t act as quickly as one directed into the bloodstream but with the size of the dose he’d be feeling it shortly.

“Behave Sergeant. You’ve already disappointed me once, you would not enjoy the experience of doing so again.”

“Asshole” was Barnes’ only response. His limbs were moving with less co-ordination now and his struggles were decreasing.

“Strap him down. Don’t feel the need to be gentle.”

The guards wrestled him onto the bench, one of them getting an elbow to the ribs and returning the blow with interest in the form of a fist to the face, marring the Sergeant's fine features.

Clearly his approach so far had been far too lenient.

He grabbed his three needles of serum and his sterilising alcohol, a few cotton swabs, and a large dressing, and placed them on his steel surgical tray next to the bench. Koller was the one stood closest.

“Force his head down to one side,” he told the guard.

Koller repeated his blow to the Sergeant's cheek. Barnes’ head ricocheted back onto the table’s surface and Koller quickly pushed his hand and his weight down onto the soldier’s rapidly bruising face, preventing him from moving.

Barnes apparently knew some fairly creative German obscenities and had been sharing his extensive vocabulary with the guards in recent days according to their reports. Clearly Koller was enjoying this opportunity to silence that aggravating mouth.

Zola now had the unobstructed access to Barnes' neck that he wanted. The strained position he was being held in - chin pushed up too high to be comfortable, even if his face wasn’t being pushed hard against the unyielding metal of the slab – also forced the veins and muscles of his neck into prominence. Perfect.

Zola sterilised the entire side of the neck and finding the first jugular vein emptied with first needle into it. He quickly repeated this with the second jugular vein before injecting, with slightly more care, the final dose into the carotid artery.

He grabbed the dressing before he removed the needle and applied it with as much pressure as he could manage as soon as the needle left the neck. He grabbed Koller’s other hand and forced it on the dressing in place of his own.

“Press down hard and don’t move your hand until I tell you,” he ordered.

It should only take minutes for the puncture to close. The serum should already have reached its targets.

It was time to turn on the Vita Rays once again.

This stage always seemed to hit the subjects harder and faster than the previous ones. Even before the exposure Barnes was reacting to its presence in his system. Full-body shudders were already setting in.

Zola suddenly remembered his EEG and electrodes and quickly connected up his monitoring system.

He turned back to Koller, “Remove the dressing.” Koller lifted his crushing grip from the Sergeant’s neck and revealed the injection site had already closed and was starting to decrease in size.

“Good. You can let go now.”

With the violent reaction his body was currently having Barnes was in no condition to interfere as they manipulated and manoeuvred him, placing a cap of electrodes over his head, once again stripping off his clothing and attaching a blood pressure cuff to his upper arm.

Time was of the essence at this point. Zola quickly took down some readings and let the EEG run for as long as he dared before disconnecting everything and clearing the guards out of the way so he could activate the Vita Ray generator.

As one last precaution, Zola took hold of the Sergeant’s chin, squeezing until his lower jaw fell open and quickly inserted a rubber guard over his top teeth. There.

He flipped on the switch and got the shield between him and the transformational radiation as quickly as possible. There was a muffled scream and then silence. Zola was suddenly concerned, but there was nothing that could be done until this burst was done. Luckily just a few minutes this time.

He prepared a shot of adrenalin just in case and sent Feltz out to collect the containers of ice to fill the tub that was still sat conspicuously in the lab. Zola stared fixedly at the second hands of his watch. Suddenly he looked up and felt a tremor of shock travel up his short frame as he found Schmidt standing to one side of the lab doorway, watching proceedings.

“Doctor,” Schmidt tilted his head in greeting. “Don’t let me disturb you. It seems you have your hands quite full at present.”

Zola had paused in surprise and was only spurred back into action when Feltz returned carrying the ice.

Zola heard the Vita Ray emitter powering down and instantly pushed the screen forcefully out of the way. Barnes was totally still, Zola leapt forward, fingers reaching for the young man’s neck. There was a pulse, but it was fast and erratic and he was most definitely unconscious.

Suddenly Zola was thrown back as the Barnes was hit with a violent seizure.

“Koller, Feltz, help me hold him still.”

In the periphery of his vision Zola saw Schmidt straighten.

The three of them turned Barnes on his side and tried to immobilise him as much as possible. It took just under three minutes for the tremors to stop. Zola checked the Sergeant’s pulse again. It was still racing but seemed stable now. It wasn’t the worst reaction possible to the S3 serum – that was death – but the severity of the seizure was greater than anticipated.

Barnes kept producing the most unexpected results.

With his body’s electrical system going haywire, Barnes’ temperature was climbing rapidly as his body lost equilibrium. They had to get him cooled down immediately and then stabilised as soon as possible.

Zola quickly undid the restraints, removed the mouth piece, and directed the three Hydra guards to get the patient properly submerged in the ice bath. The fact that Barnes barely reacted to the near freezing temperature was a clear indicator of how much excess heat his body was currently producing.

They cycled him in and out of the icy water three times with the Doctor checking pulse, breathing, and skin temperature after each submersion. When Zola was finally happy that Barnes was back within a safe temperature and respiration range, if running marginally hotter and faster than the average person, they returned him to the surgical bench and Zola set up an I.V. of fluids, electrolytes and nutrients to help him recover.

Then after a moment of consideration he selected a light blanket from his shelving and draped this over the young man. He let out a deep and somewhat relieved breath.

“You were not worried were you Arnim?” Schmidt asked, still stood in the same spot close to the lab entrance.

The three guards moved to stand to attention in the presence of their leader.

“It is a most trying part of the process, and there have been complications…” Zola trailed off, not really wanting to elaborate further.

Schmidt strode forward, arms held behind his back, and circled around the table baring Barnes, gazing down at the prisoner with as assessing look on his masked face.

“How far have you progressed with this one?”

“This is the third stage of the transformation.”

“And he is still breathing I see. When will you be able to complete the process?”

“I will move him into Stage 4 in a few weeks.”

Schmidt looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, “Why so long Arnim?”

“I wish to run some additional tests and I think it would be wise to start on the conditioning before he becomes more difficult to handle.”

It was all the truth, just not all of the facts.

“That may be wise. You are hopeful for success with this one?” Schmidt asked.

“It is too early to say. However regardless of whether he survives the final stage, testing the behavioural modification techniques I’ve devised will be hugely beneficial to our plans.”

Schmidt strode back to the side of the lab and picked up a file from the shelving unit, before returning to his position next to the Doctor.

He held the folder out towards Zola, “I believe you requested this?”

Zola took it from his hand with a curious look. He flipped open the cover and saw it was a copy of a US army personnel file. The file in fact of one James Buchanan Barnes, Sergeant of the 107th Infantry division.

“Ah yes. Our agent was successful then.”

“Unlike the one embedded with Rebirth,” Schmidt said in a sour tone. “It would seem that your current subject is one of the best sharp shooters the American Army has. It would be a pity to loose such a resource. Please keep me informed Doctor.” With that Schmidt left the lab.

Zola frowned, making the ever-deepening creases appear more prominently on his forehead. Schmidt’s obvious interest in the present trial and patient was a complication he could have done without.

He glanced over at Barnes – he was still deeply unconscious by all appearances. It was unlikely he’d be awake for some time to come.

Zola took the file and retreated to his office to finally satisfy his curiosity about the young soldier who had been his obsession for the past two weeks.

Aged 27, parents both dead, drafted just under one year ago. Perfect eyesight, physically fit and with no pre-existing medical conditions. Everything Zola could have wanted.

There was a brief report on his basic training, full of jargon that meant very little to Zola’s eyes, all except for the hand-written note ‘Bright kid, light feet, exceptional shot!’ and the recommendation to send him for additional specialist training to become a scout and sniper.

There followed a list of shot ratios that – if Zola was reading this right – was truly remarkable. This is clearly what had grabbed Herr Schmidt’s attention.

Thanks to the additional training and evaluation, Zola now had all of the ‘before’ data he could have wished for. Now he had to make sure Barnes survived to reach the ‘after’ point. That or risk Schmidt’s intense displeasure it would seem.

He looked out of the large window, down at the unmoving man below. The only problem is he had no idea what awaited him on that bench.

The surge in electrical activity in Barnes’ body seemed to indicate that – this time at least – the serum had worked as hoped for. But he simply needed more data.

Shaking off his uncharacteristic uncertainty, Zola examined his lab for any and all testing and monitoring equipment he could put to use. He’d best make use of Barnes’ current unconsciousness while he could, as there was no telling how challenging sedating him would be from this point on.

He gathered up his selected items and headed back to the table and his test subject.

Zola arranged his items neatly on the surgical tray and then picked up a scalpel. Time to find out what surprises Sergeant Barnes had in store for him now.


	14. Mixed Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight spoiler for Agent Carter in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Zola and Bucky get a time-out. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – The next day (Day ten of testing, Late October)

Zola paced back and forward across the lab, contemplating his next move. Barnes was still strapped down to the table, the same as he had been for the past 12 hours.

His heart beat was displayed on the monitor next to the bed, attached to him through the electrodes secured by a band on his chest. It showed a strong clear pattern, flashing past just a little faster than would be expected from a resting heart rate of a healthy young man in his late twenties.

It was the EEG which was making Zola step back and take pause in what had been – until just now – an intense and exhaustive bout of research that had carried him through the night.

Barnes’ brain was on fire. The electrical activity was intense and erratic and didn’t look like it was going to return to anything resembling normal any time soon. This had to be the reason for the Sergeant’s continuing lack of consciousness.

He’d run all of his previous tests again, taken additional tissue biopsies and taken new X-Rays. All he could do now was wait and watch.

He stopped pacing, and looked up finding himself uncomfortably close to one of the replacement guards who’d relieved the previous team.

Schmidt hadn’t yet requested his presence or a report which was a small mercy. He didn’t yet know what he could or would say if that changed.

All his long night of analysis had revealed was that Barnes’ healing was still sluggish compared to what it had been; it had possibly even regressed from what it was before the S3 injections. However there was a slight change in cell structure and density. It was almost as if the serums’ effects were gradually accumulating, and each formula was fluctuating before finally establishing a balance.

Maybe all that was required was to complete the programme, allow the various transitions to stabilise and let the body adapt to the extreme changes in its own good time.

OK, that would be his plan of action. Now he needed to ensure he met his objectives. Those for both achieving the transformation and those for after.

A movement caught his eye, Barnes was beginning to stir. The heart rate monitor showed a marked increase, and surprisingly the patterns from the EEG seemed less incoherent. Good, it shouldn’t be long until he was awake once more.

He’d keep the Sergeant under observation for the next few hours and then return him to his cell. His incisions required time to heal – at least for the moment - so Zola decided he’d leave him be for 48hrs or so before running his next set of tests. After all the body needed time to recover from such a trauma.

He needed something to occupy himself with, so he set about making a list of materials he’d need for the next stages of his experiment. He beckoned over one of the be-goggled guards and handed him the list.

“Take this to Klein in Requisitions, inform him that I require all this within 72 hours, no later.” The guard turned to go. “Oh, and locate Feltz. I wish to have those shackles I requested installed in the isolation cell, at once please.” The guard left to carry out his orders.

Zola returned to his office and settled back behind the desk. He had a few reports about the Valkyrie project to read and a few orders to send, but the first order of business was a copy of a psychiatry journal paper he’d had delivered just this morning. It was by a Dr Johann Fennhoff and it was shaping up to be very interesting indeed.


	15. Overwhelming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hear no evil. See no evil. Sorry about the delay!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Yet more unexpected results for Zola. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – The next day (Day 12 of testing, Late October)

It had been a fascinating 48 hours.

Once they’d returned a semi-conscious Sergeant Barnes to his cell and secured him with the newly installed manacles, Zola has expected an uneventful time spent waiting for the incisions from the previous testing and contusions from the previous beating to heal. Instead, the following day he’d found himself riveted to the security monitor showing him the Sergeant’s accommodations.

Since he’d started coming around Barnes had been displaying the most bizarre behaviour, and it had taken the Doctor a little while – as removed as he was – to work out the cause.

The hitherto stubborn and almost stoic young man had his head buried desperately in the awkward embrace of his shackled arms and the meagre blanket he’d been allowed in his cell, and he appeared to be sobbing.

This was pain not sorrow or despair, Zola was sure of it.

He watched for several minutes. At first he assumed it was something simple yet painful like a migraine, but that didn’t quite fit, despite the electrical storm that had been the young man’s brain only a matter of hours ago.

The Doctor hadn’t yet had the chance to test Barnes’ current resistance to drugs, so he prepared a syringe of analgesics with a 50% larger dose than he’d typically administer, and went down to the isolation room. He needed a more detailed observation to make a diagnosis.

The second Zola entered the room however the cause of Barnes’ affliction became obvious. Each step taken around him, every click of his chains and each movement of the door in his vicinity seemed to be causing him physical pain. Zola had seen similar effects to this produced by drugs, but never with this severity. This was a totally new result from the serum.

Without knowing if it was just Barnes’ hearing that had been altered, or whether it was all his senses that had been heightened to pain-inducing proportions, Zola couldn’t risk administering an injection. He’d returned to the lab and located a piece of breathing apparatus he’d been working on perfecting as a protection for himself against gas attacks. He switched out the ‘air mix’ canister already attached with one containing an aerosolized anaesthetic, picked up his ear protectors and a length of thick bandages, along with a set of padded restraints and then summoned one of the guards to accompany him back to the cell.

Rendered virtually helpless by his body’s betrayal it had been a simple matter to cuff Barnes this time. The guard holding him down while Zola administered the gas, bound his eyes with the bandages and placed the ear guards securely over his head.

As expected the gas – though powerful – wasn’t enough to overcome the Sergeant’s newly-accelerated metabolism, but while it didn’t succeed in knocking him out it had been enough to relax him and to reduce the intense pain he’d been experiencing.

It was ironic – he’d been contemplating using pain as a tool to shape the Sergeant once, or perhaps if, he survived the trials of the transformation process and here he was doing his best to relieve it. But subjecting a person to pain for no purpose was something he couldn’t abide, and adding any additional stress to Barnes’ system at this point would have been counter-productive at best.

He hadn’t known enhanced senses were a possibility. He’d not seen any evidence of it in Schmidt, not that he’d ever been allowed to examine the Hydra leader in detail. He’d had blood samples and counted himself lucky for that.

Is it possible that ‘Captain America’ also has this advantage?

Possibly this was something unique to his particular strain of the serum. Thrilling. That is if this was in fact a permanent change. None of the serum’s effects seem to be stable currently – not a conclusion he’ll willingly be sharing with Schmidt of course.

With the Sergeant seemingly calmed for the time being, Zola had to resign himself to yet more delays in his schedule. The next round of tests would have to wait. But maybe there was a way to explore the extent of these new enhancements during this time?

He’d left the prison cell bathed in darkness for the night, and moved all non-vital personnel out of the area, in order to reduce the sources of sound potentially causing the overload to Barnes’ senses. He’d ordered some food via yet another unknown Hydra guard – clearly recruiting was going well - and then retired to his own room for a few much needed hours of rest and relaxation. He’d never dedicated so much time and energy to a single project before, especially not with such a large concurrent workload to deal with as well. He hoped once again that Sergeant Barnes would prove worthy of his efforts.

Now he sat finishing the last of his salad – vegetarian options in a war zone were fairly limited – and watching the monitor. Though it was difficult to see much in the now dimly-lit cell, even with his enhanced cameras, he could make out that Barnes was now sat upright on the bed, back flat against the cell wall and knees drawn up, cuffed and shackled hands resting on top of them.

Even with his restraints Barnes probably had enough freedom of movement to remove the ear protectors and the bandage blindfold, but to Zola’s eyes they looked to still be firmly in place. Clearly the Sergeant wasn’t keen on removing either of them any time soon. So he’d guessed correctly; it wasn’t just the hearing that had been elevated.

So the question was which sense to test out first? And how to do it in such a way that Barnes couldn’t deny him accurate data? He’d have to be subtle. Not one of his strongest suits he knew.

Zola looked at the clock; by his reckoning it had been over two days since the Sergeant had eaten a proper meal. Summoning that day’s dogsbody from his position in the lab, he sent the guard back to the kitchen to fetch a tray of the energy-dense foods that he had prescribed for his patient. He came back bearing an almost absurdly large helping of some sort of rich meat strew complete with bread, potato dumplings and beans. Zola made the guard place the tray down on the desk.

He had no way to accurately measure any of this - highly frustrating - but a comparative study would still be valuable.

He handed the guard a piece of chalk and a radio and silently applauded his own creativity. This would be crude but repeat observations should help refine it. He sent the guard off – slowly and quietly - down the corridor, tray in hand and watched for Barnes’ reactions on the monitor.

He’d make sure all four meals were sent through this way today. If nothing else this study would divert him for a few hours from the drudgery of personnel reports and correcting machining errors.

Pure science was his thing, a mind like his was wasted on trivialities such as production and logistics, but Herr Schmidt insisted.

He saw Barnes turn his head in the direction of the doorway and take a deep breath. He sent a tone through the radio to the guard and heard a pause in the receding footsteps. Good.

He stepped out into the hallway and noted the position of the mark on the wall. The guard had indeed been treading very carefully and was still a significant distance away from the isolation cell.

It would be irresponsible to draw conclusions at this stage of an experiment, but this did look like a significant result.

While the process of physically creating the mechanical weapons that had been his life’s work until recently was pure tedium, the work of creating a living weapon was starting to delight him, even as the unpredictability and slow progress frustrated him beyond any prior project. Barnes could very well be his masterpiece.

Of course he would repeat the process as soon as it was successful, but the Sergeant – or what remained of him – would always be the template, the breakthrough and the first of his new, improved version of humanity. Or so he hoped.

He needed to chase up his equipment and pharmaceuticals order with Klein. There was still ever so much that needed to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this, please check out my other multi-chapter story The Directive which is kind of a continuation.


	16. Regression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zola has some chilling plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Zola gets all paternal. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – Three days later (Day 15 of testing, Late October)

Three days of exhaustive testing had led Arnim to only one conclusion – he no longer understood his own creation. The thrill of discovering the Sergeant’s unexpected new sensory abilities had faded away along with the abilities themselves. Just two days had passed and Barnes appeared back to normal.

Did all children vex their parents to this extent?

Normal also wasn’t entirely the correct term to employ; everything about Barnes was slightly heightened but nothing close to the extraordinary levels he’d seen previously. It really was he hated to admit, now just a case of moving onwards to Stage 4 and simply hoping for the best. He despised ‘hoping for the best’.

There were still no demands from Schmidt – Zola wondered briefly which country that meant he was occupied with invading this week. They’d had ‘words’ regarding Switzerland.

It was time to move on to the testing and the more easily-controllable task of starting to shape Barnes’ mind along with his body.

His sine wave electrical generator had finally arrived, as had the treatment chair from The Great War he’d hopefully requested. They’d actually located one. Hydra’s efficiency was truly an inspiration on occasion.

He had an idea for a design for more-targeted electrodes, but for now he’d have to make do with the standard issue ones. It was ironic that just as the medical field was moving away from using sinewave EST, he was planning on perfecting it to maximise the very side effects they were looking to eradicate.

Klein had also procured a large supply of the newly discovered drug LSD. He’d been keen to explore its effects ever since he’d heard of its creation in Germany a few years ago. While he didn’t have the skills to attempt the mesmerism, or hypnotism as it was also called, that Fennhoff had described in his remarkable paper, he believed that any altered state of reality could produce the same, or at least a reasonable approximation to, the mind control and memory isolation that the Russian doctor had been able to achieve.

He’d had the chair set up in a separate room - there simply wasn’t space for it in the main lab. Anyway he planned to start with the drugs and experiment with dosages and guided memory regression techniques before he brought the electroshock into play.

Zola had also noticed the Sergeant’s seemingly enhanced resistance to the cold during the ice treatments and was keen to explore this aspect further. He has some fairly interesting ideas on how it might potentially prove to be a boon in the future.

Zola put his papers to one side – he’d already sent out his orders for the day to the other production facilities around Europe, and had spent the morning churning through the various requests and reports from the facilities that had been returned in response. Everyone of them always had an excuse for not meeting their targets and yet he was the one who had to answer for their incompetence. At least this facility was on schedule under his direct guidance.

He picked up the latest intelligence reports and felt a moment of dread when he read about the creation of the United Nations Commission for the Investigation of War Crimes by the British. He knew that if Hydra fell he could very well be judged and condemned by this newly-established institution. Called a murderer and a war criminal by arrogant men too blinkered to see that what he did, he did for the benefit of all humanity.

Zola shook off his pre-occupation with this ‘might be’. He’d rather suffer from real than metaphorical chills. He put aside the memos and headed down to the service quarters. He drew some curious glances when he walked into the industrial-scale kitchen that fed the residents of the factory complex.

“Doctor Zola, can we help you?” one of the staff asked. He waved them off and continued through the kitchen to the commercial walk-in freezer at the back. He opened the door wide and examined the inside. Everything was stored on free-standing racks – that would make it easy to clear. It would serve. He’d simply need to disable the internal door release and install a camera. That should be quick enough to achieve.

“I need this unit emptied for my use. See that it’s done today.”

The man – the kitchen manager Zola assumed – looked confused.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, no of course not Herr Doctor.”

He gave the man a small smile of thanks “My men may also cause some disruption for the next day or so, apologies for this inconvenience.”

Zola swept out of the kitchen and headed back to his lab to locate Feltz. He’d leave the organising of the modifications to the trusty Corporal. He was far too preoccupied to oversee it himself.

It was time to discover what effect a 500 microgram dose of LSD would have on the Sergeant. After reading such promising reports of its effects he was very much looking forward to seeing them in action, and more importantly seeing what use he could make of them.

It was time to bring Barnes back to the lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scarily Operation Paperclip mentioned in CA:TWS is real, and some of those scientists were used in developing a CIA program called MKULTRA in the 50s and 60s which was all about mind control using - you guessed it - LSD, EST and hypnosis. Those boys McFeely and Markus do their research. As do I :).


	17. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ice, ice Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: I had to have Karpov there for the freezing bit, it wouldn't have been right otherwise. In my head-canon it's Kapov's unit that finds Bucky post-fall, which is how they know who he is and what Zola did to him. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – The following day (Day 16 of testing, Late October)

Feltz had been his usual efficient self and the freezer unit was set up and ready for Zola’s use - complete with the new camera feed patched into the monitor in his office - exactly when he wanted it.

His experiment yesterday with the LSD had proven very instructive. The drug had taken a while to take hold of the young Sergeant but when it did its impact was instantly noticeable. He’d gone from silent death glares aimed at Zola from his position strapped down on the table, to an obvious state of confused agitation. However he had been experiencing the world, it clearly hadn’t been pleasant for him.

He also seemed confused about where he was and who his captors were. It was just as Zola had hoped.

It had taken several hours for the LSD’s effects to wear off – a much shorter time than that dose would have typically merited. At least some of his hard work was still in evidence.

By the end of the ‘trip’ Barnes seemed exhausted and vulnerable in a way that Zola hadn’t observed in the soldier during his captivity up to this point. He’d been breathing heavily, eyes screwed shut and muscles tensed.

Zola had noted this all down, along with the Sergeant’s blood pressure heart rate and temperature, which had been a little more challenging than usual to obtain with his patient unwilling to relax or respond to any of his reasonable requests. Koller had been called in to lend the aid of his fists. He did seem particularly skilled at this aspect of the job.

Zola considered if he should also note down any of the words spoken by Barnes in these tests, but as this had been mostly incoherent murmurs, and the phrase ‘I will get out of here’ repeated over and over, he felt they’d add little to the record.

He contemplated his protocol for the psychological conditioning he wanted to instigate before the S4 final stage administration.

He’d most likely need to alternate between the LSD and sodium thiopental to stop them losing their efficacy in the subject, and he was still happy with the doses he’d calibrated earlier. The only question that remained was how he initiated the programming. Did he attempt to break the Sergeant before attempting to remove his memories, or should he be patient and wait for the induced amnesia to make the boy more compliant?

Either way it was time for the veneer of civilisation to be stripped away; forging a weapon was a brutal process any way you tried to pretty it up, and in this instance it would be even more so. But as always, the ends would have to justify the means. He’d evaluate Barnes’ state of mind after his low-temperature experiment and make a decision then.

Today he had Koller, Feltz and interestingly a Russian named Karpov at his disposal. Herr Schmidt had been working hard to forge Hydra a separate identity outside of the Nazi party – of ending conflict rather than perpetuating it - and clearly that message had found receptive ears across national divides and shifting fronts.

Karpov was even a Captain in the Russian army.

He’d arrived at the factory this morning and had been sent to observe the research they were doing. He was going to be put in charge of a new Soviet division of Hydra that would infiltrate the ranks of the Allied forces in the area. Zola wasn’t sure how far he’d trust these Soviet ‘defectors’ but it was an ingenious plan he had to concede. After all Hydra was now also opposed to Hitler and his forces, and 'the enemy of my enemy' had stood true for millennia.

He’d let Karpov do the honours this time, he should at least make himself useful if he was going to take up space in Zola’s lab.

“Captain, would you organise transporting the prisoner down to the cold storage?”

“Of course Doctor.”

“Just one moment.” Zola looked over at Barnes - he was fairly unresponsive still. He’d need reviving for this test to prove useful, although the cold would undoubtedly help with that.

Zola prepared a shot of amphetamine and injected this into Barnes’ arm. The fact that the previous injection site was already undetectable gave him a small moment of satisfaction.

The Sergeant was now blinking his way back towards something resembling consciousness, so Zola picked up the padded restraints and handed them to Karpov, “Take him. Remove these when you get there, I want him free to move in the locker.”

The bald-headed and dark-bearded Karpov inclined his head slightly to show his acceptance of his orders. It must have seemed strange to him being under the command of a civilian scientist, but he seemed content enough to follow Zola’s instructions. He marshalled the other two Hydra soldiers and within moments they had Barnes secured and on his way down to the kitchens.

Zola moved to his monitor to observe their arrival at the freezer.

Just a few minutes later he watched as the door to the icy compartment opened, and a stumbling Barnes was shoved in by the guards who shut the door firmly behind him.

Zola started his timer.

The water vapour in Barnes’ breath was visible hanging in the air even on the monitor screen, and it was only a matter of moments before his arms moved to wrap themselves around his torso, trying to hold in whatever warmth was possible.

He seemed more awake now then he had been at any point since Zola started his drug trials a few days past, but Arnim knew this hyper alertness was just a survival mechanism kicking in. Barnes’ brain, as clouded as it had been, still recognised and responded to danger with the keen awareness of a scout and soldier.

The somewhat threadbare uniform he was in wouldn’t be much protection in the temperatures he was currently experiencing. The freezer was set to −20 °C at his instruction.

The pacing started 17 seconds later.

Clearly Barnes was now fully conscious, as he started to examine the door of the freezer unit he was trapped in. There was no way out, Zola had made sure of it.

The Sergeant looked around for something he might have been able to use to break the seal around the door but the interior had been stripped bare. There was nothing in there except him and the cold.

Two minutes.

He examined the other walls and the floor.

Four minutes.

He resumed his pacing.

Six minutes: Still no shivering. Core temperature is apparently still stable. Excellent.

Eight minutes: The subject has attempted to force the door open with the application of brute force and a boot. This was unsuccessful as anticipated, although the strength of the kicks appeared considerable. Keeping the subject in a weakened or drugged state going forward might be best practice.

Nine minutes, fifteen seconds: Pacing has resumed.

Twelve minutes, eight seconds: Noticeable shivering observed.

Eighteen minutes, thirty-six seconds: The subject struck the door with his fist and attempted to attract attention and possibly aid from those on the other side. No sound means that the exact wording shall have to be gleaned from those on location at a later time.

Twenty-two minutes, seven seconds: Attempts to illicit assistance desist. Pacing is resumed. The subject clearly knows enough to keep moving to attempt to maintain his body temperature.

Thirty-four minutes: The subject’s shivering has intensified.

Thirty-eight minutes, twenty-seven seconds: The rate of pacing has now noticeably increased.

Forty-two minutes, forty-four seconds: The subject is attempting to raise surface skin temperature through induced friction focused on the upper arms. Apparently this has little success. Attempt stopped twenty-four seconds after commencing.

Sixty-two minutes: The rate of pacing has decreased significantly.

Seventy-five minutes, eighteen seconds: The subject again attempts to illicit assistance from external parties by striking the door and shouting. Words spoken to be added later.

Ninety minutes: Pace has slowed once again. No other changes observed.

One-hundred and sixteen minutes, forty-one seconds: The subject has stopped pacing and is now seated with his back resting against the unit door and with knees raised to rest against his chest and arms around torso. Possible reasons – onset of hypothermia and physical exhaustion, or an attempt to reduce the surface area of the body exposed to the cold. Both in combination is most likely. Resistance to cold so far seems well above that possessed of a normal, untreated human.

One-hundred and nineteen minutes, twenty-three seconds: The subject has risen and resumed pacing. Movements are unsteady, shivering has decreased.

One-hundred and twenty-six minutes, four seconds: The subject has once again collapsed into a sitting position and is now huddled against the wall of the unit. Position in this instance the wall to the left of the door (internal view) and the same physical position assumed is as previously described.

One-hundred and thirty-two minutes: No change.

Zola started at the monitor, another ten minutes had gone by and beyond a slight shaking there had been no movement from Barnes. That made it one-hundred and forty-two minutes of exposure so far. Impressive.

Could he risk a full three hours?

Some slight frostbite should be easily dealt with - the Sergeant’s enhanced healing was still capable of that much. But if his core temperature dropped to too great a degree, stabilising it might be too much even for a doctor of his skills.

He picked up his pen and checked his timer once again.

One-hundred and forty-five minutes: The subject displays visible symptoms of hypothermia – paleness and a severe reduction in shiver response. Little movement observed.

Barnes had his head bowed and resting against his knees, so it was hard for Zola to tell for certain if he was conscious still. Suddenly Barnes jerked violently back into motion, desperately trying to shed his shirt.

Zola checked the time.

One-hundred and forty-seven minutes, five seconds: The subject has progressed from symptoms of mild hypothermia to displaying those of a moderate to severe case. He has begun to remove items of clothing due to malfunction of the hypothalamus.

Barnes was now struggling to remove his boots, his success impeded by his compromised co-ordination. Zola sighed.

The three hours had been an arbitrary target but one-hundred and forty-eight minutes – plus walking time - would have to suffice.

Barnes had freed himself from one boot and was now working on the laces of the second.

Zola picked up the pile of blankets on his desk, and the timer and started down to the kitchen. Three minutes and approximately ten seconds later he had joined Feltz, Koller and Karpov in front of the freezer door.

He handed Karpov the blankets. “Remove him. The blankets should be wrapped securely around him to restrain him. He’ll likely try and remove any coverings.”

Karpov nodded to Feltz who released the door latch.

The Russian looked sceptical “Surely he can’t still be conscious. I’m Russian, I know what cold does.”

The door released with a hiss, and a billow of condensing air obscured the view of the interior momentarily.

When it cleared, Barnes could be seen lying outstretched on the icy floor or the freezer. He’d clearly managed to remove the remaining boot and had started on discarding his uniform pants before exhaustion had stopped him. But he was most decidedly still conscious.

Karpov looked honestly shocked.

“Captain, you will probably require some assistance.” His words seemed to stir Karpov back into action, and he and Feltz entered the freezing room and began wrestling Barnes into a cocoon of blankets, as he fought to avoid their burning touch, and the layers of material his confused body and mind were telling him were the last thing he needed.

“Koller, gather his uniform.” The Hydra trooper hurried to obey.

Zola was feeling most satisfied. The Russian Winter had decimated the Nazi forces sent in unprepared to face its wrath, and now Zola had possibly created a soldier that could take on that winter and defeat it. Yes he was most pleased indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those wondering, the effects of LSD are situational. So, I can't see Bucky having a pleasant trip which strapped down in Zola's torture chamber/lab. Too bad, he could really have done with a moment or two of escape...


	18. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zola has a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: New knowledge makes Zola change his approach. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – The next day (Day 17 of testing, Late October)

There was no frostbite. None at all.

And it had taken a remarkably short time for Barnes’ internal temperature to return to the high end of the spectrum that was now his new normal. They’d simply placed him close to the kitchen ovens for fifteen minutes, before shifting him back to the lab for observation.

He'd prepared a heated I.V. bag but it hadn’t been necessary.

Zola would have been humming with happiness had he been the humming sort.

He’d quickly written a report and sent a copy to Schmidt – he was back in the main Alps base it would seem. He’d had Karpov deliver it. The Russian was spending the day with the Hydra leader. Undoubtedly he would be sharing what he’d observed the day before. That should keep The Skull satisfied for the time being.

He’d dedicated the rest of the day to attempting to understand this wonderful resistance to cold that his creation had. As soon as Barnes had stabilised he had hooked him up with a nutrient I.V. and knocked him out with a powerful sedative drip. He didn't need him conscious. There would be no more meals from this point on until he’d successfully managed to re-align the Sergeant’s loyalties.

He prepared a syringe and scalpel and proceeded to take multiple blood and tissue samples from his unconscious patient, and returning to the freezer unit he’d commandeered, began subjecting them to temperatures even more extreme than those he’d previously exposed Barnes to. He was down to -35 degrees and the cells were still resistant to freezing, it was remarkable.

Now, he knew he had a container of liquid nitrogen lying around the lab somewhere…

He located the Dewar and with gloves in place, carefully lowered the biological samples into the super-cooling liquid, flash freezing them in seconds at close to -200 degrees centigrade.

Zola watched with bated breath as the samples transitioned from clear suspended animation to alive and functioning once more. It was even better than he’d hoped.

When he’d verified Barnes’ raised tolerance to extreme cold, he’d simply imagined crafting a weapon that could operate in conditions in which humans and even most ordinance would be unable. This result however opened up whole new possibilities.

Could Barnes himself be put in suspended animation? Frozen until needed? Massively extending his useful operational lifetime - the major drawback of a ‘living weapon’.

Zola was unsure what effect the serum would have on the natural ageing process. Schmidt didn’t seem to have aged noticeably in the few years since he took his variant, though it was indeed hard to tell with his – ahem – unique visage.

With its restorative properties it was feasible – no, even likely – that the lifespan of the subject would be significantly increased. And if cryogenic suspension was indeed a possibility this could create an eternal asset for Hydra. A soldier who could only get better with time, rather than falling prey to the rigours of age; continually learning new skills, new tactics and new technologies. Not just a supersoldier but a perfect one.

It was so close to the realisation of Zola’s own deepest desires he had to sit and gather his thoughts. But no, this wasn’t the final solution he was pursuing with his research by any means, and once again he was in danger of getting too far ahead of himself.

He turned and simply sat gazing at the young American currently unconscious on the table. He wanted him to survive. He needed to study this, understand it properly and from every angle. Find out if his suppositions were in fact true, and if his theories could be transformed into practical realities.

No, forget any blunt tactics; he’d start on the electroshock therapy at the first opportunity. He needed Barnes compliant and as healthy as possible to face the final stage of the process. If he managed what he hoped, very soon Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes wouldn’t be able to recall his own name. He’d know nothing, remember nothing, but serving Hydra’s and Zola’s aims. And that he’d do perfectly. Zola would accept nothing less.


	19. Expendable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's electric he has a family full of eccentrics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Zola decides to test a few ideas out on someone new. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more. Thanks for all the lovely comments and the kudos. You guys make me happy and keep me writing.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – The next day (Day 18 of testing, The End of October)

Zola stood back and surveyed his work with a sense of satisfaction.

It had hardly been a challenge, simply adapting an existing electro-shock generator to fit his needs, but it was a pleasant change of pace after the weeks of time-consuming and frequently frustrating experimentation on Barnes.

Biology was so…messy.

Something he was looking to remedy at some point in the future.

The system was crude by his standards, but hopefully effective, and more importantly it was now ready to be fully implemented. He’d be using the bilateral shock technique to maximize the induced retrograde amnesia. He’d never tried this before and he was more than a little eager to turn theory into practise, and he now had multiple scans of the Sergeant’s brain, more so than he believed most physicians had ever had before monitoring memory loss effects on a shock therapy patient. And thanks to his more advanced equipment – his own design of course – he had far more detailed pictures of Barnes' neural networks than even the most advanced labs around the world had managed to achieve.

Maybe though this time he should do a trial run on a different subject?

If something went wrong, even for Barnes a brain trauma could take days to heal, and his patience was not infinite. He always tried to prevent allowing his base emotions to overrule his self-control, but acknowledging your faults is a vital part in overcoming them in his belief. And he was after all still human – for the foreseeable future anyway.

Maybe he should take-up psychology in his spare time. He could undoubtedly contribute more than most of the pseudo-scientific hacks currently practising in that field. Even with only a fraction of his focus dedicated to it. And he definitely needed a new hobby.There were no suitable chess partners in Hydra’s assembled ranks. It was the one thing that made him miss that sanctimonious Jew, Erskine.

Hmmm, if he was successful maybe he could add some advanced strategies into Barnes’ training. It would almost be like playing himself, and that would indeed be a challenge.

What a delightful idea.

He couldn’t fight the small smile that played over his face as he set about making the final adjustments to the electrical connections on the chair’s headpiece.

Admittedly his grasp of the human brain wasn’t yet anywhere near advanced enough to allow for such ‘tinkering’, but the possibilities were astounding. And after all, he was Arnim Zola, so it was simply a matter of time.

Yes, he’d find another volunteer in the prisoner cells today for his initial runs. He needed to create some base lines for a standard human male anyway. And logically he could also do with a more detailed picture of Sergeant Barnes’ neural pathways in regards to specific memories and skills - before he started altering them with blasts of current - he had to admit.

While he was still leaps and bounds ahead of his contemporaries, he was still learning, and it seemed there was always more to discover.

He’d finally caved to expediency the evening before and arranged for a local nurse to be brought in today to tend to the now almost perpetually unconscious young man. She’d arrived this morning, a dour dark-haired and dark-eyed, middle-aged Austrian woman who’d gone about her duties with a ruthless efficiency that bespoke decades of experience. Not even the multiple guards with their feature-obscuring headwear and threatening weapons had seemed to throw off her well-established rhythms.

So, as Zola re-entered his lab he was somewhat surprised to see her carefully and almost tenderly, shaving away the four (or was it five?) days’ worth of beard growth from the Sergeant’s jaw.

Zola didn’t object to it in principal. In fact if he’d probably have requested it if it had occurred to him. But he hadn’t. A minor oversight.

He’d have someone else brought in next time, it was a sensible security precaution and it wouldn’t do for attachments to form.

He allowed her to finish, watching with an air of studied disinterest until she was escorted out of the room.

As soon as he was certain that she was out of earshot he turned to the now ever-present Feltz.

“Select a prisoner from the pens who won’t be missed and take him to the chair room.”

The meticulous, and newly-promoted Hydra solider nodded, and went off to fulfil Zola’s request.

Running through his itinerary for the day Zola then left the lab himself – all the guards were gone but it wasn’t likely that Barnes was going to awake with the level of sedation he was under - and hunted down a waterproofed tarp from a nearby storage room. Those messy aspects of biology were sure to come into play once he started the shock treatments on his new test subject.

He returned to the small room housing his latest project and draped the durable fabric over the chair.

He stood back to evaluate his fix. That would do until he could create a chair that would resist any soiling he supposed.

He turned around as he heard footsteps approaching and a moment or two later Feltz and another guard entered to room, dragging a black-haired young US Army soldier between them. A Private by the looks of it, no more than nineteen or twenty if Zola had to guess, and with a build closer to slim than the Sergeant’s medium. But he was showing obvious signs of fever which is why he’d been selected by Feltz, Zola assumed.

“Strap him in” Zola said indicating the leather restraints he’d installed on the chair’s head rest, arm rests and leg supports.

The two guards wrestled the young infantryman into the contraption as he yelled, screamed and kicked to no effect other than to try the Doctor’s patience. He really should appreciate Sergeant Barnes’ dignified silence and creative insults a little more.

He’d start out with the standard therapeutic treatment settings and work from there.

The guards had taken up posts either side of the doors. He didn’t require their assistance but he didn’t see any harm in them remaining.

He removed the soldier’s dog tags – Private Christopher Harris – and moved the electrodes into position around the subject’s head, ignoring his pleas (Don’t please. I’ll do whatever you want. Don’t do this. I don’t know anything).

He adjusted the dials on the generator and pressed the button that would release the charge into the chair.

He felt a visceral thrill run through his body, almost mimicking the current flowing through the young man in front of him.

The six second burst induced the expected seizure. Muscles contracted, limbs locked and Zola felt his breath catch in his chest.

He waited for the electricity to dissipate before pulling out a pen light and doing an initial examination of the test subject. “Private I am a doctor, can you tell me your name?”

“Harris, Chris.”

“That is very good. Well done.” It was very good, apparently the shock had impacted his memory enough that he didn’t recall the manner in which they had been introduced. Very promising. He'd heard that patients willingly agreed to treatments mostly due to the fact that they retained no memory of the previous one.

“What is the last thing you remember?” now this would be interesting.

“An attack. German troops with these scary as hell sci fi weapons were pinning us down. What happened Doc? What’s wrong with me? How did I get here?” the Private asked.

Zola moved away.

“Doc? Doc!”

“When was his unit brought in?”

The soldier kept crying out for answers behind him. Zola tuned it out.

“Two days ago?” Feltz looked at his colleague for confirmation. The other guard nodded. “Two days.”

Two days’ worth of memories gone with the flick of a switch, it was incredible. He was re-shaping this young man’s reality.

He returned to the chair.

“Calm yourself Private Harris. You have been very ill and we are trying to help you recover.” He dialled up the current level and flicked the switch again. Let’s see how far back they could go…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudoses help me get over my post Ant-Man angst and write faster. Just saying ;)
> 
> I'm now wishing away the next 9 and a bit months of my life so it'll be May 2016 already. Oh well at least I'll soon have Agents of SHIELD and Agent Carter back to fill the void. And fanfic of course.


	20. Insight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For theletterelle and GateKeeper2 :)  
> So much Ant-Man pain/laughter/pain again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Poor Harris. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – A few hours later (Day 18 of testing, The End of October)

Maybe he had taken it too far or too fast. Both options were equally likely without further subjects for comparison.

He looked over the now continually twitching soldier in the chair with a Doctor’s evaluating eye.

Either way it was unlikely that Private Harris would be telling anyone anything for a good long time. He seemed to have lost the capacity for speech along with the control of his limbs. Zola was almost positive the spasms would stop at some point soon though.

“Get him hosed down.” They had a room for such things after all, best to make use of it.

The loss of muscular control had indeed been complete. He could tell the guards were now regretting their decision to stay and watch.

“What shall we do with him after?” Feltz was unable to keep the distaste from his voice.

Zola stood in contemplation for a moment. “Lock him in store room 2C for the time being. Bring another tarp with you when you return and fetch someone from maintenance to get this cleaned up” he said gesturing to the puddle slowly forming under the chair.

He turned to exit the room and leave the two guards to get on with their unpleasant assignment, but turned back once he reached the doorway.

“Please remind them that electricity and water are not the best of combinations” he said gesturing to the generator.

Feltz responded in the affirmative.

He was more concerned with damage happening to his equipment than accidental electrocutions, but both were best avoided. It was always unwise to underestimate the gross stupidity of the average person.

He walked back to his lab at a slow and steady pace, lost in thought as he weighed up his findings from the last few hours.

Once the fits stopped he’d run a full check-up on Harris. He was almost certain that the last shock had probably left the Private a simpleton for the rest of his natural life, but as long as the brain damage wasn’t too severe that he could no longer take direction he’d return him to the cells.

He’d be a good control if nothing else. According to the clinical reports he’d devoured, long-term memories wiped by the shocks returned in full to almost all patients within a few weeks of treatment. So if Harris showed any recall, even after the level of shock he’d received, it was something Zola needed to factor in to his plans going forward.

The Private had proven himself to be most helpful and he may still be of some further use it would seem.

He now had a safe range of currents established, and the memory loss had seemed to extend with additional shocks – up to a point anyway. The Private had come to after one session fully expecting to be sent to basic training. Whether this was due to the increased strength or the repetition of the electrical blasts he couldn’t tell.

No-one had done the research, too worried about patient safety to find out how this supposedly ‘established’ treatment truly worked. The wilful ignorance these other doctors were prepared to live with was astounding to Zola. Their narrow definition of the Hippocratic Oath was keeping them mired in a self-imposed Dark Age in his view.

He drew close to the lab entrance and summoned Koller from his usual post in the hallway to accompany him inside.

He regarded the usually silent and usefully brutish guard as he marched into the lab and took up his new station.

Everyone had their uses he supposed, but the painful truth about humanity was that a great number were eminently replaceable. Even a revolution like the serum could only improve upon the qualities already present, and there were far too many millions of his fellow humans around that he believed were only alive because their intellectual superiors over the centuries had allowed lesser minds to reap the benefits of their genius.

That was why he’d agreed to take on Erskine’s research after all. He and Schmidt shared a vision in that regard. That if evolutionary forces had stopped improving mankind then they’d help that evolution move on to the next stage.

The non-sense Hitler’s people were spouting was offensive to him. Genius was found in all peoples and all nationalities. Surely history had taught them this? From the mathematical prowess of the Arabs to the chemical mastery of the Orientals.

And even the most unimpressive individuals could give birth to exceptional offspring. His own pedestrian parents were ample evidence of this fact.

He approached the bench and disconnected the sedative drip from Barnes’ arm.

While the American might not qualify for the standard measures of genius, there was definitely excellence present there Zola mused.

His hand-eye co-ordination could be best described as exceptional. And who knows, those advanced computations his brain seemed to do so effortlessly to gauge those long-distance shots could indicate untapped mathematical talents that either situation or circumstance had prevented from being revealed and developed.

Those were the parts of the Sergeant’s brain that Zola wanted to keep intact at all costs. He was as excited about the untapped potential as he was about the Sergeant’s documented skills.

Despite all of his frustrations he persevered with all these extra trials and precautionary measures, because on some level he had judged Barnes to be worthy of the effort he realised. They had greatness lying ahead of them, the two of them, so much to achieve.

The Sergeant began to stir and Zola quickly gathered together his brain-mapping equipment and set it up in what may well have been a personal record. His passion for this project had finally ignited and he was eager to see it come to fruition.

He had just positioned the sensor net securely on Barnes’ head when he saw the first signs of consciousness returning. That was faster than anticipated.

He sped up his preparations, grabbing a fresh hypodermic and drawing his now standard dose of sodium thiopental into the chamber.

He reached towards the catheter taped to the back of Barnes’ hand only to find his white coat sleeve suddenly held securely by that same hand.

“Don’t.” Barnes was still blinking heavily, trying to focus through the last soporific effects of the sedatives. Yet he’d still moved startlingly fast. The serum mix in his bloodstream was clearly having one of its unpredictable surges.

“Release me Sergeant” Zola was in no mood for any delays today.

Koller stepped forward, looking to lend his ‘aid’ undoubtedly, but Zola waved him off. Barnes was going to do as he was told this time.

“Remove your hand Sergeant Barnes.”

The young soldier looked more and more coherent by the second, but the firm grip on his arm stayed in place.

He remained still as the Sergeant visibly swallowed and met his eyes. “How long?”

“Since you were last awake? Two days.” Zola could see that this answer was a blow to Barnes as much as he tried to conceal his reaction.

He decided to add more fuel to the fire: “And I can assure you that there has been no sign of any rescue attempt. You seem to have been classified as an acceptable loss by your superiors. Believe me when I say this is not a sentiment I share.”

Barnes’ hold on his arm weakened and his hand slid back to the surface of the steel table. An expression of loss flashed briefly over that expressive face.

Maybe the reality of his situation had finally started to set in for the soldier. His life, his death, were now Hydra’s to command.

Zola barely hesitated a second before injecting the drugs into the needle port, standing back until he was sure they’d taken effect, watching.

He didn’t have long until the effects would wear off if the serum’s impact was being felt. What to focus on?

“Sergeant Barnes, tell me about your family.”

No response was forthcoming, but the Sergeant wasn’t where Zola was looking for his answers. He viewed the two displays showing the activity currently taking place in the man’s drug-influenced brain, each displaying a separate hemisphere.

“You have several siblings I believe? Three younger sisters your records say?” Yes there was isolated activity in one specific region now.

“They must be missing their big brother terribly. Are you close?” There it was again, in the same spot. Fascinating.

“You are from Brooklyn I see. Is your family still there?” Another flash of activity in the same location, wonderful.

Now what to map out next?

“What is your earliest memory? I want you to picture it for me.”


	21. Outcomes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A 'Yey Bucky' moment before you know what happens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: It's all coming to a head (sorry terrible pun). And apologies for all the swears. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – A short time later (Day 18 of testing, The End of October)

“Get off me you bug-eyed, micro-dicked, fuck-head.”

Just twenty minutes had elapsed since he’d administered the sodium thiopental and Barnes was already free of the influence of the drug, and was somehow now also free of the leg restraint.

Zola had moved back to a sensible distance from where he was observing Koller’s continuing attempts to re-secure the prisoner.

Despite the unlikelihood of that outcome, a small part of Zola was actually rooting for the Sergeant. Koller enjoyed violence just a little too much for the Doctor's tastes. But enough was enough, he already had another syringe ready to send the Sergeant back to sleep so he could restart the sedative I.V. He just needed Koller to get those legs strapped back down so he could avoid any unpleasantness while he administered the injection.

Koller wasn’t finding it easy, even with two straps still securing the rest of the now re-energised US soldier to the bench.

Either Zola had misread the Sergeant’s demeanour earlier, or reminding him of his home, men and family had simply renewed his determination to fight.

Zola suspected the latter. After all his resilience and loyalty had been the qualities that had indicated he’d be a suitable test subject for the serum in the first place, and if Erskine was correct, those aspects would have been amplified along with his physical traits.

Feltz and his fellow guard chose that moment to re-enter the lab, but instead of going to Koller’s aid, they took up a position next to the wall and seemed content to simply watch the spectacle unfolding before them.

“Fuck you, you fat,” kick “uncoordinated,” kick “glorified gorilla.”

Yes, he would actually miss that creative flair when it was gone.

Koller had finally succeeded in pinning down Barnes’ legs, though it appeared to be taking all of his considerable bulk to keep them locked in place. After a few moments he also managed to grab the loose ends of the leg strap and then looked at a complete loss.

“Herr Doctor?” Koller held up the buckle that secured the strap. The metal had snapped.

Clearly one of those totally inexplicable strength boosts had facilitated this minor and somewhat pointless bid for freedom.

“Feltz please fetch the other restraints.” Another surge was not beyond the realms of possibility. “Best make it two.”

“Yes Herr Zola.”

The newly minted Hydra Sergeant and his fellow trooper moved to the unit where the temporary restraints were stored, fetched what was required, and went to help Koller deal with getting Barnes back under control.

One leg had again escaped Koller’s grasp, and a knee it seems had managed to make firm contact with the guard’s jaw if his split lip was any indication.

“You dim-witted, shit-eating toady!”

Yes Barnes was definitely a reader if his verbal dexterity was any indication.

Zola didn’t know what the aim of this had been for the American. There were after all still two more straps, locked doors, hundreds of enemy soldiers, and over 30 miles of heavily fortified and difficult terrain between him and any chance of anything even resembling freedom. But he’d still clearly felt the need to try. Exasperation rather than irritation best described what Zola himself felt about that.

It would truly be a joy to see that drive – and that deadly accuracy – put into service on the right side of this fight. But this was a clear indication that it was time to put an end to Barnes’ continued resistance, and the chair was the most efficient and effective method at his disposal of doing that. Though it would have to wait until tomorrow. He still needed time to examine Harris after all and to allow Maintenance to do their work.

He’d also need to rework the fixed restraints on both the table and the chair; clearly his new fabric was up to the task at hand but the fastenings would need to be upgraded to something a little sturdier.

The three men had finally succeeded in getting the two leather straps secured around the Sergeant’s lower legs, and Zola quickly took advantage of his preoccupation with battling the new restraints to slip back to the table and feed the sedative he’d prepared into the back of Barnes’ hand.

“Fuck you, you megalomaniacal, text book god-complex, runt of the litter, asshole.”

Yes definitely a reader.

Luckily the injection should knock him out before he had time to get really inventive with the insults at Zola’s expense. His struggles against the restraints were already starting to weaken noticeably. He hooked up the I.V. line once more to put him fully under.

Zola moved away from the table and beckoned to Feltz to accompany him to the office section of the lab. He fetched his medical bag and a portable EEG that he handed to Feltz to carry, before entering back into the main lab once again.

The still-bleeding Koller was glaring at the gradually stilling form of Barnes he noticed. He’d learned too much from past mistakes to trust to professional conduct in these matters.

He paused for a moment before heading out of the laboratory door. “Corporal Koller. I’m leaving the safety of my experiment in your capable hands for the next hour or so.”

There, he’d reminded the small-minded man that Barnes wasn’t merely a prisoner who’d wronged him, he was also Zola’s personal property with all that entailed.

An odd mixture of pride and disappointment crossed the heavy-set guard’s face before it settled back into the bland neutrality that it typically possessed.

“Yes Herr Doctor, no harm will befall the prisoner.”

“I am sure all will be well” Zola responded with a small insincere smile. Now on to more important things.

He headed towards 2C with Feltz following closely behind. “Sergeant, what is your evaluation of the test subject Private Harris?”

Feltz looked surprised to be asked his opinion.

“He had difficulty walking after the procedure sir. We were required to carry him to both the clean room and the storage closet.”

“What about his mental state?” Zola pressed.

“Empty sir.”

Zola stopped and looked at the fair-haired German officer “Can you elaborate?”

Feltz took a moment to adjust his grip on the bulky equipment before replying.

“He seemed confused about everything around him, and he seemed to keep opening his mouth to say something but it was as if he could not remember the words to speak.”

Zola absorbed this information and resumed his journey down the corridor. Within a few moments he was outside room 2C.

He’d assumed it would be locked, and his assumption was confirmed when Feltz carefully put down the EEG equipment and selected a key from the bunch attached to his uniform belt. He quickly opened the door and stepped aside to allow the Doctor to enter.

Zola stepped into the room, it was large for a supply closet, one of the reasons he had selected it as a temporary holding area. He instantly spotted Harris, sat on the floor a few metres away at the far end of the interior, dressed only in military issue army undershorts and with his arms cuffed around a leg of a heavy shelving unit.

His muscular spasms had indeed stopped, Zola was pleased to see.

The dark-haired young Private looked up at him with unrestrained, almost child-like curiosity painted across his features, and a questioning look in his eyes. His mouth opened and shut a few times but no sounds were forthcoming. As Feltz had said he appeared to be almost entirely vacant.

Zola couldn’t wait to discover if the inside matched the outside. Was this man now a tabula rasa, a true human blank slate?

Feltz had followed him into the room bringing in the scanning equipment.

“Please place that next to the subject Sergeant” Zola instructed.

The heavy box was deposited where the Doctor had requested and Zola began unpacking the small portable generator, the sensor cap and the small CRT display. It was hardly ideal but it would have to do. Once he was sure Barnes was totally unconscious he might risk bringing the Private to the lab for a more detailed scan, but this would suffice for now.

He knelt down with some reluctance on the cold concrete floor, and began to connect up the equipment close enough to Harris that the electrode net connected to the EEG would comfortably reach the young man’s head. He had just finished putting the sensors in place when he noticed that the Private’s left leg was oddly swollen at several points.

Zola leaned over and applied pressure to one of the areas.

Harris gave an almost inhuman sounding shriek and tried to draw his leg away, which apparently caused more pain and resulted in the utterance of yet more of those unholy sounds. Zola flinched and reached for his medical bag.

Harris calmed quickly, looking surprised at the sensation of feeling pain. It really was most like watching a child experience its first skinned knee. These however were multiple hairline fractures if he was not mistaken.

“You say you had to carry him here?” Zola asked the only other individual in the room currently capable of carrying out a conversation.

“Yes sir. He seemed unable to put weight on his legs.”

The fractures must be a result of the muscle contractions caused by the shock treatments. Maybe restraining the legs had been a poor choice. The shearing forces produced by the limb straining against the bonds had seemingly broken the bones at multiple points.

Yet he could not risk leaving Barnes unsecured.

He opened his bag and prepared a morphine shot to relieve Harris’ pain. It would be pointless to make him continue to suffer. He’d need to immobilise the leg as well he supposed, but that could wait until he was finished here.

The Private watched with interest as first the disinfecting swab and then the needle approached him, making a high-pitched sound of displeasure when the hypodermic entered his arm, but due to the cuffs holding him in place Zola was able to administer the painkiller and dress the injection point without too much bother.

The Doctor finished connecting up the leads between the various units and then flicked on the power. It took a few moments for a clear image to appear on screen. Far too slowly for Zola’s liking, the diagram of Harris’ brain appeared and what he saw both surprised and infuriated him.

The memory centres, at least those associated with short-term memory such as the hippocampus, all looked totally normal. Harris was processing the information from the world around him completely as he should as far as Zola could tell. The loss of speech was going to make testing Harris’ recall a little more challenging, but as they had yet to confirm if his understanding was also impaired, there was still some hope that he might be able to gain some insight into the state of his subject’s current synaptic integrity.

He once again focused his attention on the chronically confused looking young man in front of him.

“Private, if you can understand what I am saying please nod your head up and down.”

The soldier nodded enthusiastically, apparently grateful to have some way to communicate.

This was fortunate indeed.

“Do you know what your name is?”

The Private seemed to ponder this a moment and Zola glanced at the monitor - little was happening elsewhere in the brain it still appeared. The Private shook his head ‘no’ without prompting. His memory of gestures if not speech seemed to be intact.

“Do you remember where you are from?” he pressed.

Again a shake indicating ‘no’ followed. And again there was little to no activity in the long term memory centres.

Zola decided to test out one thing more.

“Sergeant give me your boot.”

Pleasingly Feltz didn’t even question the odd request, he simply unlaced his heavy Hydra issue black boot and handed it to Zola.

Zola placed it in reach of the young US serviceman.

“Please tie the laces on this boot for me.”

Harris instantly complied, effortlessly tying a neat bow. This was very good indeed. His implicit, mechanical memory still seemed to be completely intact, although the aphasia was an unwelcome side effect.

He would have to devise a way to protect the language centres of the brain before trying something similar on Barnes.

He sighed and stood up, brushing down the knees of his previously neatly-pressed trousers. He returned the boot to its owner and started packing up his equipment.

As tempting as it was to dive into the scientific goldmine of what had and hadn’t been altered, erased or simply made inaccessible in Harris’ memories, he’d already determined enough to develop a safe protocol to run on Barnes and Zola simply didn’t have time for any further distractions.

He grabbed a splint from one of the shelves holding medical supplies and securely bound the young Private’s leg.

Zola thought the soldier looked grateful. Maybe he would also come to appreciate the fresh start he’d been granted free from the horrors of war.

It would be most interesting to see how or indeed if his brain would with time adapt to the electrical damage it had sustained.

He shook off his pondering and turned to Feltz once again “Place him in the isolation cell for the time being. Barnes will not be needing it for the next few days at least. Have his rations delivered there.” He checked his watch. “I must go review the day’s progress on the Valkyrie, can I trust you to convey everything to its correct place?” he asked the guard.

“You can have faith in me Herr Doctor.”

“Thank you Sergeant Feltz.”

The man was so resolutely loyal to the cause that Zola half thought he may come to resent Barnes being used as Hydra’s living weapon once he discovered the nature of the experiments he was party to, either that or he’d volunteer as the project’s next subject (they really did need to come up with a name – for posterity if nothing else).

So far the man had shown nothing but dispassionate and highly effective professionalism, but Zola had come too far now to leave anything to chance, and an over-abundance of loyalty could be as dangerous as a lack of it was his firm belief.

He left Feltz with Harris in 2C and after quickly checking on both Barnes – still unconscious, pulse and respiration steady – and to a lesser extent Koller and whoever the other one was, he headed to the factory floor for his inspection.

Yes it would be wise to have one of Hydra’s intelligence operatives evaluate Feltz, Koller and the other guards who’d born witness to his work on the serum. The Russian Karpov too. After all he needed absolute faith in those around him once he had the only proven super soldier serum still existing in the world. He did not intend to end up like dear trusting Erskine. It was a problem for another day, but one that he saw drawing closer with each hour and every new discovery.

As he stepped onto the factory floor, and attracted the notice of Colonel Kleiber so they could commence his review of the weapon and ship components, he only managed to give the man the minimum of attention required for him to absorb the reports of production line faults and machining errors. In truth his usually focused mind was still several floors above, in a room with a chair that had the power to reshape the will of men or remove it entirely.

Tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The type of aphasia mentioned here is a real condition, usually caused by a stroke, and rarely severe enough to remove all speech but it can happen. Harris might have actually been able to say some ingrained phrases still - if he could actually remember any that is...


	22. Inevitabilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zola decides that it's time for him and Bucky to leave town. But not until after he's performed one last little round of tests of course...
> 
> I'm looking for a beta reader. Any one (who knows what a modifier is) up for the very-wordy challenge?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: It'll be all right Steve's on his way. Oh he's not? What do you mean that comes later? NOOOOO!!!! Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – Early morning, Day 19 of testing (1st November 1943)

Zola sat at his desk carefully formulating a plan of action. The Skull was returning. Zola didn’t know where he’d been, but his employer had uncharacteristically sent word that morning that he would be back at the factory on November 3rd - just a few days from now. In the Doctor’s experience that did not bode anything in any way pleasant.

He’d been so focused on Barnes, and on getting the other facilities back up to speed after their various lapses, that he hadn’t kept as close an eye on proceedings at his own facility as he would typically have done.

He’d hastily summoned Colonel Kleiber and had been pleasantly surprised to find him well on top of the production schedule. He’d switched the workers to shorter shifts and had begun alternating them between the skilled and labour-intense work. Given a few days, this eminently sensible process – one Kleiber’s predecessor would never have dreamed up – might even regain them that re-assuring cushion they’d maintained until Lohmer’s professionalism had so deteriorated.

He was now reasonably confident that Schmidt could find little if anything to fault in his stewardship of the Valkyrie project. If only he could be so certain of the Hydra leader’s good opinion in regards to his other undertaking. He doubted that the breakthroughs he’d made in brain-mapping, and the use of shock therapy as a potential conditioning tool would be enough to appease Johann. He was not known for his patience even before his own serum-induced transformation.

He could all too easily imagine Schmidt deciding to force his hand and push for an immediate transition to stage 4. Arnim wanted to avoid that eventuality at all costs. The only thing worse than the final stage being a failure at this point, would be its success.

If Barnes knew he had the strength to not only potentially aid his own escape but also that of his men and the other captives, Zola doubted there would be anything they could do to bring him to heel. As insightful as Johann could be, he hadn’t had first-hand experience of the magnitude of the American’s bone-deep stubbornness, so he’d assume that breaking him would simply be a matter of application and time. Zola however was far from certain that any typical method of re-education would result in anything resembling the useful operative he hoped to acquire.

Distractedly neatening the papers and schematics on his desk the Doctor stared out at the motionless form of Barnes on the new lab table. He’d had an engineer work through the night to fit the new piece of equipment which included a foot board, a tilting mechanism and some padding.

With the amount of time Barnes was spending either unconscious or simply lying down, muscle deterioration and pressure sores were becoming a significant risk. This new table would reduce the likelihood of these issues developing, however Zola knew that he needed to get Barnes eating and exercising normally soon or physical decline was almost inevitable, even with the enhancements in effect.

Maybe they’d be able to take advantage of the period of disorientation after the electro-shock therapy to see if he could be enticed to take in some real food? Maybe even a brief walk outdoors – under heavy guard of course.

Zola suddenly noticed that the off-putting tapping that had broken into his musings was in fact being produced by the pen held in his own hand. He slammed it down with a sound of disgust.

Yes these were all problems that needed solutions, but he knew he was distracting himself from the major issue at hand: How to justify keeping Barnes out of Schmidt’s reach until he was completely ready to put his work under scrutiny?

He could already see signs of impending wakefulness in Barnes. He was going to have to up the dosage or move back to continual sedation. He couldn’t anticipate from one day to the next how his subject would react to the drugs he was administering. It was a little more excitement than he generally enjoyed in his lab work.

Having gone through all this effort, and having given this project so much personal investment, he wasn’t about to let one of Schmidt’s tyrannical whims derail him now. Having seen him vaporise his Nazi guests just weeks ago he knew just how - impulsive - his leader could be, and he needed to plan for all eventualities.

What to do?

His hand was again drifting closer to the pen. He snatched it back in towards himself.

Maybe literally out of Schmidt’s hands was the best approach? He could simply transfer him. It’s not as though this factory was equipped to contain a successful stage 4 test subject. And Lord knows, the other facilities could benefit from his direct oversight.

Zola ran through the Valkyrie production locations in his head. The one in Czechoslovakia would be ideal. Seemingly mismanaged and with a suite containing the previous factory owner’s walk-in vault.

He exhaled and felt the tension leave his body. He’d clearly become more attached to this subject than he intended, but such was the human condition. Transporting Barnes would be a challenge. Constant sedation for the length of time that journey could take would be a risk, and awake there was no predicting when one of those surges in strength would occur.

But maybe…

Zola stood up and leaned forward to pick up the receiver on his desk phone, and dialled the extension that would connect him to the machining shop across the factory. He waited impatiently for the two rings it took for the call to be answered.

“Rheinhard.”

“Major, that item I requested, is it complete?”

There was a moment of hesitation on the line “…Sir, the main unit is complete but the cooling system is very complex. With your request for the table…it will require more time.”

“Yes, yes,” it’s not as though he’d have had time to test that aspect of things anyway “the main unit will do, the rest can be shipped later.”

He heard the soft release of a held breath down the line.

“I will simply require the intake and exhaust ports set up to accommodate a large-capacity compressed air tank. How long?”

He heard a muffled yell in German and some muted banging noises before the engineer replied.

“We can do that today Herr Zola.”

“Very good. That will be all for now Major.”

He’d replaced the receiver on the cradle before Reinhardt even had a chance to respond. He had too much to do to wait on niceties.

Next it was a phonecall to the Czechoslovakian facility – ostensibly to confirm the shipment of their completed parts to the main Alps base – in which he informed the Hydra officer in charge, a Colonel called Muller, to expect a delivery of his own personal equipment in the next few days, and that he himself would be following shortly after.

The officer’s measured response made it impossible for Zola to tell how his pronouncement had been received, but that was none of his concern. Quickly dialling again, he gave orders to Klein to deliver a large-capacity air-tank to Reinhardt and his team and to arrange the transport of the old lab table to the other base. He’d have another one constructed to the new specifications once he’d arrived at his destination.

Zola decided to make one last adjustment to his plan “Klein, I will also need you to arrange a prisoner transfer. Private Harris, who is currently in the isolation cell. I’d like him transported today along with the table.”

“Yes Sir.”

He still required Harris as his baseline for recovery. He had faith that Klein would get it all done. The requisitions man seemed capable of performing minor miracles. How he was able to locate Zola’s favourite blend of coffee in the middle of this war the Doctor still didn’t know.

The journey itself would take a few days he knew, so he’d need to prepare enough in the way of supplies to keep Barnes pliant and healthy for the duration. And he’d have to travel along with Barnes and the unit which, much to his displeasure and future discomfort, would mean days in the back of a transport truck.

If only rail was an option for this particular journey. He thought wistfully of his personal train that’s currently situated in Vienna; it’s the only really civilised way to travel.

Finally satisfied with the plan he’s set in motion, Zola exited the office and found Feltz approaching.

The Hydra Sergeant nodded his head in greeting. “The prisoner is awake sir.”

So soon? Luckily Zola managed to keep that reaction unspoken. He merely nodded in reply, attempting to give off the impression that this had been his very reason for coming into the lab at that exact point.

He walked over to Barnes, who was indeed now blinking blearily at his surroundings.

Zola moved on to the equipment rack, motioning for Feltz to follow, and picked up the reinforced shackles that had been delivered along with the procedure table the previous night. As had…now where were they?

He deposited the heavy restraints in Feltz’s arms, and promptly located the dark, wooden box he’d been searching for, sat against the exposed brick of the exterior lab wall.

Bending - with a little less ease than he'd like - Zola undid the latch securing the top of the case and lifted out a pair of the modified pistols he'd ordered. They had been adapted to fire sedative darts carrying a dose calibrated to match those he'd been giving Barnes to this point. Suddenly he wondered if this would still be sufficient, but he merely needed the rounds to incapacitate Barnes if circumstances called for it.

He handed these off to Feltz who managed to accommodate them in his grip along with the bulky chains through a little ungainly juggling. Zola merely designed weapons, he didn't care to carry them - even the non-lethal ones.

Zola looked at his watch. He could afford to wait no longer if he wanted a full forty-eight hour, post-procedure observation window. How was he expected to do his best work under these time constraints and with constant interruptions he'd never know.

He turned to address Feltz.

“Secure the Sergeant with these. We’ll be taking him to the chair.”

Feltz moved promptly, dumping his burdens into his fellow guard's arms, allowing himself the opportunity to holster one of the tranq weapons before he set about untangling the arm restraints.  He then returned to Barnes and locked them securely over the wrists of the still-groggy soldier.

Koller however stayed precisely where he is, clearly unwilling to get into kicking range of the Sergeant's legs again. Feltz in contrast simply shot the burly guard a thinly-veiled look of disdain, took the leg shackles from him and completed the task himself. Koller it seems is the very definition of a bully. 

Feltz paused, waiting for the Doctor's 'go ahead' gesture before releasing the straps - and the soldier - from the experimentation table and pulling Barnes unsteadily to his feet. The boy was still drugged to the gills, and barely able to stand upright without the assistance of Feltz's firm grip on his upper arm.

An irritated bark of "Koller" from his now commanding officer finally spurred the man into action, and he ventured forward and grabbed the American's arm hard enough for the young soldier to feel it and react even through the haze of the anaesthetics in his system.

Zola's eyes narrowed. He detested bullies. His small stature and academic abilities had made him a favourite target for the violently-inclined throughout his childhood. But through his work and achievements he'd shown himself to be their superior in everything but size. In a lab he was king.

"If you are quite ready gentlemen."

He'd made his displeasure clear. He would rely on Feltz to do the rest. Though Koller's usefulness was now waning to such an extent, that it might be best if he were sent on an assignment that would ensure that Zola's work remained as classified as possible.

He'd ask Sergeant Feltz to recommend a suitable replacement at the first available opportunity.

He led the way out of the laboratory and down the corridor with the two Hydra men half-dragging, half-carrying the semi-conscious Barnes between them. The journey to the room housing the chair was made in silence apart from a few incoherent mumbles from the American.

No-one ventured into Zola's domain without both his express permission and very good reason. They knew better.

The party entered the spacious room that held the chair, the brain-scanning equipment and virtually nothing else. Even Zola would admit that the sight of all that space focused on that black edifice - with all its attachments and wiring - was more than a little unnerving.

Without requiring any further instructions, Feltz and Koller deposited their charge into the device and set about removing the shackles and fastening him in.

His heavy contact with the chair, and the feel of yet more straps being secured around him, seemed to rouse Barnes from his drug-induced stupor, and he's suddenly lucid again, straining against his bonds and trying to work out where it is they've taken him.

Zola watched as he absorbed the new environment and the - he had to admit - somewhat barbaric nature of the apparatus he was now attached to.

The one other item in the room is a surgical trolley.

Barnes focuses his attention on this as Zola walks towards it and lifts off the protective cloth.

The Doctor selects the innocuous-looking bite guard from amongst the assorted blades, spreaders, needles and saws that litter its surface, and then walks slowly over to his prize subject. Crude tactics he knows, but time and resources are limited here.

Their eyes lock and Barnes refuses to look away. He has courage this one.

"Open your mouth Sergeant" Zola demands.

He'd thought long and hard about how to reliably test an individual's recall of events directly before a shock treatment, and sadly it seems that crude tactics are all he has at his disposal under these constraints. Crude but undeniably effective.

Pavlov's research had verified the potential, though he doubted the Russian scientist had ever expected his work to be utilised in quite this fashion.

"Co-operating would be in your own self-interest Sergeant Barnes."

On this occasion his appeal is met with a stony silence, but from the steadiness of his patient's glare it was now apparent that all the drugs have finally left the American's system. Good. They could begin.

He moved back to the tray and picked up one of the few implements that are there for anything other than show. A thick but short length of leather, not quite long enough to make someone a sensible belt. He handed it to Feltz.

"Half-strength blows to the head, avoid his eyes and only on my command. The signal is 'Rescue'." Feltz nodded his understanding and moved into position, standing on the right of the chair. He formed a loop with the length of material and wrapped the two ends securely around his right fist.

If the Doctor could detect a negative association with so positive a word after the treatment, then he felt comfortable judging that as ample evidence of Barnes' memory of the time interval before the procedure having returned.

"Sergeant Feltz, brace." The soldier raised his arms into position, ready to strike on Zola's command.

Barnes resolutely kept his eyes fixed firmly on the Doctor. Zola pulled out a set of 60 cards from his waistcoat pocket, each baring a non-sense word except the 10 neatly printed with the word Rescue. He shuffled the cards. They'd make this as random as this process could be under the circumstances.

He lifted the first cue card and squinted at it slightly. He should have requested a bigger font. Ah yes.

"Locomotive."

He placed the card down on the tray and selected the next.

"Fox."

The second card joined its fellow.

"Tennis."

"Your speeches could use a little work Doc." Barnes had regained his voice it would seem.

Zola smiled tightly and placed this card down on top of the last.

He turned over another.

"Rescue."

Feltz struck, fast and accurate. The belt struck the left-hand side of Barnes' face with a sharp crack, leaving behind a red welt and a split lip in its wake.

"Would you care for that bite guard now Sergeant?"

The American shook off the blow and resumed his glowering. Zola took that as a refusal.

He placed the card on top of growing pile. If the word printed on it was Restive, not Rescue, well it was an honest mistake to make. 


	23. Results

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zola finally puts the chair to its intended use. Gulp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: I hate myself right now. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – A few hours later, Day 19 of testing (1st November 1943)

THWACK

Was that the correct sound? It should definitely end with a 'k' Zola decided. It best fitted the sharpness of that consonant.

Honestly he'd never given much thought before as to how sounds should be transcribed, but having listened to this one a good dozen or so times over the past few hours, it had given his mind something to ponder over in the otherwise monotonous task of attempting to condition a response into Barnes.

The American soldier's upper torso and face were a distracting and somewhat disturbing artwork of welts, bruising and cuts. They'd stripped off his shirt when it became clear that the repeated blows, even at less than full heft, were eventually going to result in a great deal of blood stains.

Oh he'd heal. Zola could already see that the abrasions and cuts caused by the first blows of only a few hours ago were now mostly closed. He also noticed with interest that Barnes' muscle mass was definitely greater than one would expect for someone who'd gone for a prolonged period without exercise or adequate nutrition.

All in all, it was a gorgeous tableau depicting the victory of science over nature. And adding to that beauty was the distinct flinch he now spotted on Barnes' face whenever a word starting with R passed his own lips. The surge of satisfaction was almost enough to outweigh the overall boredom of the morning. It had taken longer than he'd anticipated to provoke the desired reaction though.

If he had time he'd do this over days not hours, make it almost an instinct. But that would have to wait until after they'd relocated. For now he'd have to settle for what he had. With one slight adjustment. He did so like planning ahead.

He once again picked up the bite guard and walking over to Feltz he exchanged it for the belt that the Sergeant had so far been wielding so ably for him. The Hydra man once more effortlessly understood exactly what the Doctor required of him. He took the guard and moved in front of Barnes.

The beating - and the waiting between blows - had taken its toll on the young man. His head was hanging down and his breathing laboured so when Feltz forced his head up and jaw open, this time he did little to resist. Feltz pushed the bite guard into his mouth and Barnes no longer seemed to have the energy to even spit it out.

Zola smiled warmly at him. "There and now the ordeal is over."

As after-thoughts went it was definitely one of his better ones.

He glanced over at Feltz and was about to order him to move to the next stage of the process when he reconsidered. He'd much rather do this part himself. Though he would need some - ah - assistance. He stepped closer to his chair and - he hoped - his next breakthrough.

"Sergeant Feltz, your aid please." He waved an open palm held parallel to Barnes' head in a 'backward' motion. Without hesitation Feltz pushed the American soldier's head forcefully back against the black leather headrest - forcing a pained grunt out of Barnes - and Zola quickly secured the newly-added strap around his neck, effectively immobilising his subject's head. He'd realised the necessity for this from his trial runs on Harris. A more secure contact between the electrodes and the correct points on the skull would reduce the current travelling through the rest of the body and any resultant trauma. Progress often came through increments rather than great leaps.

He picked up the electrodes and began securing the positioning rods that held the contacts in place on the chair, one either side, before adjusting their length until they were firmly clamped to the correct position on Barnes' head. Despite his exhaustion Barnes was now straining against his bonds, but apart from testing the strength of the now-lengthened leg straps there was little he could do. The chair itself was so sturdy - by design - that even the weight of a full-grown man failed to shake it on its moorings.

The usually ever-present defiance in the boy's pale blue eyes was now lost under a look of real fear. Zola adjusted his stance to reach towards the generator situated just behind the chair and turned the dial to his chosen setting. Then he hit the switch and watched as the Sergeant convulsed.

He was beginning with a burst not too substantially above the recommended therapeutic setting for a man of Barnes' size - though markedly higher than his first attempt with Harris. This first session though was merely a starting point. A fact-finding mission if you would into how these shocks would work on a brain under the influence of Zola's serums. 

A few seconds later the entire thing was over. Rather anti-climatic as a whole. The Sergeant had barely even made a sound.

He took out the pen torch from his lab coat pocket and, after forcing open closed eyelids, shone it in the soldier's eyes as he unfastened the neck restraint. It was more for show than any actually medical benefit. Show and to add to the post-shock disorientation. 

Barnes was breathing heavily so Zola hastily removed the mouth guard with a look of distaste as he took the soldier's pulse. He'd take a mould and make a more refined version. He couldn't stand anything crudely constructed.

"Sergeant Barnes, how are you feeling?"

Dazed eyes half-opened.

"I'm...where am I?" was the groggy response.

It had worked better than Zola had even hoped. Not that he truly thought Barnes would have any greater resistance than the average person - just a far superior recovery. But still, this bodes well for future compliance.

Ignoring the question he placed the pen light back in his top pocket and focused his attention on his fellow Hydra man.

"Feltz, re-secure him, get him dressed, and then I wish him to have at least 20 minutes' activity in the yard. Make sure no-one sees him, and take more men if you must."

Koller, who had been stood back against a wall enjoying the show until this point, now eagerly came forward without prompting, leg shackles in hand, and began fastening them to the ankles of the semi-lucid soldier. Clearly seeing his enemy beaten had restored his confidence.

This time Zola couldn't hide the grimace of disgust that crossed his face.

Feltz noticed, and in his first real breach of military decorum, met the Doctor's eye and nodded his agreement with the sentiment he'd just seen expressed.

If Zola had had any plans to deceive his confused captive, Koller's idiotic actions would have blown them to kingdom come. The man was becoming more of a liability with each moment that passed. He'd have no complaints from his dependable right hand when he suggests a 'permanent re-assignment' for the brutish guard it would seem. He'd certainly be more selective of who he chooses to assist him with Barnes from now on.

Feltz fetched Barnes' uniform shirt and after ushering Koller out of the way with a harshly barked order, released the American's arms one at a time from their bonds and firmly but surprisingly gently guided him back into his clothing. The wrist shackles were back in place only moments later and the straps temporarily re-fastened - just in case.

Feltz turned back to the Doctor awaiting his final instructions like the model NCO he was.

Barnes' breathing had stabilised but there was now a visible trembling that told Zola that severe muscle fatigue had set in and - thanks to several indicators of pain in his expression - probably an almighty headache. The effects have been precisely what he anticipated, and they should now potentially have anywhere between 30 minutes to several hours of the prisoner being more malleable than he has been at any prior time in his captivity.

Zola glanced at his recently acquired wrist watch - a beautiful piece of Swiss engineering - and quickly devised a sensible schedule for the rest of the working day. Beckoning Feltz over he withdrew to the far side of the room; more to avoid Koller's prying ears than concerns over Barnes hearing them. He doubted the Sergeant was able to focus on much besides the painful after effects of the electrocution. It was most unpleasant from what Zola had gathered.

"Make it gentle exercise Sergeant. I doubt he'll be able to walk unassisted for a while, so he should not cause you any difficulties."

"And after Herr Zola?"

It was gone twelve - high time for a civilised lunch then.

"Return him to his cell and arrange for food to be delivered - for yourself too - and see if you can encourage him to make use of the bathing facilities. Gently."

If Barnes was to be theirs it was best to start treating him as such, unless he gave them cause not to. Or his memory returned. Whichever occurred first.

He wouldn't require Barnes again for a while. The memory loss could last for weeks in the case of some patients, but he hoped that in this case one day would prove sufficient for the American to recover most if not all of whatever the treatment had taken away.

"I'd very much appreciate it if you would join me for the evening meal tonight Feltz. We shall be dining at 7pm sharp. I believe you are aware of the location of my private quarters?"

The Sergeant nodded.

Zola was unsure of the wisdom of Schmidt's plans, but regardless of the success or failure of the Hydra leader's aims it was past time for Zola to make his own mark in the organisation, and for that he needed allies - Feltz would be a good place to start.

He moved back towards the chair indicating that Feltz should follow. Koller was looming over the prisoner and stood directly in the Doctor's path. A brusque hand gesture was enough to back him away, but it was also well past time for the lout to be gone. Something else to be discussed over dinner that evening.

Zola faced his soldier, looking into pained eyes. "Sergeant Barnes, you are our prisoner and our patient. You've been ill. I'm a doctor and I have been taking care of your medical needs."

Not a word of it was false.

"These men will take you for some fresh air and ensure you're fed."

He paused to make sure that Barnes was following. He still looked dazed but there was understanding in his eyes as well.

"You are currently over 30 miles behind German lines in Austria. There's no hope of escape - or rescue," no response except weary acceptance - very good "so it would be best for you to behave as befits your rank and allow us to do the same."

He'd held to the edicts of the Geneva Conventions to the extent that his research allowed after all, unlike his Nazi counterparts. The uniform Barnes was wearing may be threadbare but it was still a US army uniform and he'd even - against his better judgement - refrained from removing Barnes' dog tags. The burns around his neck didn't appear too severe, but tomorrow with the voltage rising they would have to come off. And there would be little sense treating him as an enemy combatant if they were to make him a part of Hydra. After tomorrow Zola doubted that Barnes would remember enough to raise objections anyway.

He'd already ordered a Hydra uniform in the Sergeant's size to be waiting for them on their arrival at the Czechoslovakian facility.

"You are dismissed."

Feltz motioned for Koller to return and help him remove Barnes from the chair and transport him to the factory yard. The Doctor had his own projects to get back to after all.

Barnes though was still apparently enough himself to mutter something derogatory in Koller's direction.

Koller glanced at him, seeking permission. Zola might have wanted him gone, but he couldn't deny the man the opportunity to do the one thing he did well. Zola nodded. Koller pulled back his meaty fist and drilled it firmly into Barnes' ribs. The younger man doubled over with a pronounced groan.

There was a difference between belonging to them, and being one of them, best Barnes learnt that sooner rather than later.


	24. Assessment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zola starts his recruitment drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: The trailer and EW coverage has melted my mind a little, but I've pulled myself together enough to bring you this very odd dinner date. Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – Early evening, Day 19 of testing (1st November 1943)

Zola looked at his wrist watch. It was five-to-seven.

He'd retired to his apartments an hour or so ago after a pleasingly productive session in his lab. For once no manufacturing issue or personnel problem had arisen to distract or derail his research. He'd not only managed to run further tests for cold resistance on more of the various tissue and fluid samples he'd taken from Barnes along the way, but he'd also managed to make significant progress on the - he had to say - ingenious system of joints in the articulated arm he was developing.

As much as he enjoyed the challenge of working in new scientific fields, returning to his own, the study of engineering and electronics, always gave him a sense of inner peace that other pursuits were unable to match. But he'd be the first to admit that his recent immersion in anatomy had revolutionised his approach to his designs. After all, Nature had had whole ages to perfect the design of the human body. Though one could argue that it was still a work in progress. And Zola was determined to give that process, what was in his opinion, a much-needed boost.

He was studying his most recent blueprint with an eye to how best to increase the force the arm was capable of exerting, when he heard the sharp, clear knock that could only signal Feltz's arrival at his door. It was now seven on the dot. The man was indeed the model of efficiency.

Zola set down his schematics on the side table next to his perfectly-proportioned armchair and rose to welcome in his guest.

He opened the polished-wood door to find Feltz standing there at attention and dressed in a fresh uniform.

"Sir. I'm here as you requested."

He'd clearly decided it was unacceptable to come to dinner in the day’s work wear but hadn't been able to bring himself to wear civilian attire either. Zola couldn't help but smile.

"Come in, come in Sergeant. My thanks for being so prompt."

He ushered the man in and towards the small but serviceable dining table that took up one area of the unusual open and multi-functional space that made up his apartment. He hadn't seen the point of building interior walls that would simply waste space in the one-story, former supply building he'd requisitioned in the factory grounds. The bedroom and bathing facilities had been separated out, but the rest of the space was zoned and used for a variety of purposes. He'd become quite fond of the unconventional layout he must admit.

Feltz took a few long strides towards the dining area and then stood uncertainly next to the table unsure of where he should position himself. Zola closed the door and then removed the source of the Hydra officer's discomfort by indicating which seat he should take.

Feltz waited for The Doctor to join him at the table before he sat down with a nod of thanks. Zola drew out his own chair and, unfolding one of the crisp linen napkins, placed it neatly in his lap.

"Our food should arrive momentarily. I wanted to have a chance to converse with you first Sergeant."

Feltz looked a little wary, but there was more curiosity than concern in his expression.

"Do you have a family Feltz?" He knew he did – Hydra’s vetting was thorough - but he'd found that small talk about relatives was an important part of establishing a rapport.

"I have a son and two daughters."

"Your wife, I believe she passed recently. You have my deepest sympathies."

"Thank you Herr Zola."

He saw the usually implacable man in front of him visibly crumble for a moment before pulling himself together once more. Zola had never found time for the distraction of marriage or family, and watching the impact this loss had on the otherwise stoic Sergeant Feltz only enforced his belief that he had made the right decision.

"Family is important at a time like is it not?" So Zola had heard. "I would like very much to reunite you with yours."

The Sergeant's eyes - which had been fixed on his water-glass for the past few moments - now fixed intently on his own. Good he had the man's attention. Now to secure his loyalty.

"It appears our former Nazi comrades have now started to take an interest in the family members of 'the Hydra traitors' as they are now calling us." They'd managed to keep this from the troops but he knew that some, like Feltz, were intelligent enough to know it was practically an inevitability. "They do not have enough men to do even this well so we have managed to outflank them so to speak."

Feltz seemed to be holding his breath.

"Your son Gustav was on his way to join the 4th Panzars in Kiev, it seems that Herr Hitler was looking for the Russians to do the job for him in this case. We were most fortunate. I have had him posted to our facility in Czechoslovakia where he is waiting for you if you would care to accompany me there."

The Sergeant didn't even try to hide his relief and Zola knew that he'd take the re-assignment without a moment's hesitation.

"Of course Sir." Feltz's voice was thick with emotion. It was making Zola uncomfortable. Feltz looked moderately uncomfortable now too.

"Sir, my girls?"

Oh, yes. Of course.

He reached into his pocket and removed the slightly crumpled telegram. It had indeed been a very productive afternoon. He gazed at the coded message on the paper. He already knew exactly what it said, but he found props to be highly effective.

"My agent tells me that they located your little ones with their aunt, your sister, in Salzburg, and they will relocate all three to Switzerland in the next 24 hours."

He could practically feel Feltz's relief - so palpable was the loss of tension in the man's demeanour and expression. He usually found being subjected to the emotions of others highly distasteful, but in this instance seeing how deep Feltz's fear for his children had run, and knowing how admirably the man had performed in spite of this, provoked some measure of respect in the Doctor. Yes, it was a weakness but one he could exploit to his own ends and potentially turn into a boon. A second generation for Hydra perhaps? Family traditions were important after all.

"Herr Zola, I cannot express the depth of my gratitude. My children mean everything-" Much to Zola's relief a knock at the door cut off the disconcerting display of feeling from the man who's cool and collected professionalism he'd come to depend on these past few weeks.

"Ah yes, that would be dinner. If you'd be so kind as to assist the kitchen staff Sergeant?"

The man had looked as though he was about to start on his professions of thanks once again, so when he eagerly jumped up to do as Zola had asked, the Doctor was pleased to be spared from a continuation of the awkward scene he'd just been forced to endure.

Some effectively-nameless underling from the kitchens pushed in a cart bearing an array of covered dishes and a selection of bottles. Once he'd completed his task of off-loading the food and drink onto the main table, he stood silently waiting for further instructions. At least the man was good at his job, however menial it may be.

"That will be all. I'll call for clear-up once we are done."

There server nodded respectfully and, taking the trolley, left his two superiors to enjoy their meal. Fortunately the interruption seemed to have allowed Feltz the necessary time to gather himself, and he was once more the capable military man Zola required.

Zola removed the nearest covers. Strudel, excellent. It was goat's cheese, spinach and pine nuts, one of his favourites. He helped himself to a large slice before pushing it Feltz's way. Normally he would apologise for the lack of meat to his fellow diners but he wanted to see if - family aside - Sergeant Jan Feltz was the man he hoped he would be. The man simply helped himself to the pastry dish without comment and, once Zola gestured for him start, seemed to tuck into the meat-free meal with real enthusiasm.

Good, too often he'd been belittled for his dietary preferences by fools too dull to grasp the benefits. If he was to have his own 'contingent' within Hydra, he would not accept any with so narrow-minded an outlook. So far Feltz was showing true potential.

After a few mouthfuls, Zola put down his knife and fork, and filled the two crystal wine glasses on the table from the uncorked bottle of red that had accompanied the food across from the kitchens. Feltz took his with just a moment's hesitation.

Zola took a testing sip. Merlot, nicely mellow. He would miss the wine cellar here, he'd amassed a fairly impressive collection and he could only justify taking a few crates with him, three or four at most. It was a pity indeed.

The Doctor sat back and looked at his dining companion. Feltz noticed the scrutiny and politely lowered his cutlery back to the table, as at attention as he could be in the situation.

"I must apologise Sergeant, I did not realise I had not granted you a promotion but simply a partial restoration."

Zola could see more impassioned thanks heading his way from the off-balance soldier so he seized control of the conversation once more.

"Am I to take it that it was your - heritage - that led to your demotion?" The man was likely of partial Jewish decent at the very least, his name - if not his appearance - spoke to this fact.

"Yes Sir. I was career Army and ‘borderline’ according to the Nazi’s laws. My superiors knew who I was before any of 'this' started. One day it simply started to matter, Aryan certificate or no. I joined Hydra shortly after my second demotion. A colleague told me that such things mattered less here. I am happy that this has proved to be the case."

Zola swirled the wine in his glass, briefly captivated with the play of the light through the cut glass. "So with your 'unique' perspective what do you think of the work we are doing here?"

Feltz tightened his grip on the delicate wine glass and Zola momentarily worried for the safety of his stemware.

There was a hard look on Feltz's face. "Lohmer was as bad as any Nazi Sir. None of the men were sorry to see him gone."

Zola was shocked and somewhat impressed by the Sergeant's honesty in regard to his former commander. "While I commend your frankness Sergeant, and agree with the sentiment," he couldn't stop the twist of distaste his lips underwent as he recalled that foul man, "that wasn't the aspect to which I was referring. It can hardly have escaped your notice that just as the Nazi's are reported to do, I also am carrying out scientific investigations on live subjects without their consent."

Feltz looked concerned now.

"I must insist that you continue to express your opinions honestly Sergeant."

Feltz seemed to ponder something for a moment. "The boy. The American. You are changing him. For what end?"

He'd expected the question at some point, but the directness was a refreshing surprise. "Have you heard of Nietzsche Feltz?"

The Hydra Sergeant nodded. Good, an educated man.

"One of his many insights was the truth that whatever does not kill us, instead makes us stronger. Sergeant Barnes has become the embodiment of that truth. And I too am claiming the aim of bettering mankind as my primary justification."

"You wish him to survive this process?" Feltz looked strangely hopeful. Maybe he wasn't the only one who had developed an odd fondness for the stubborn young sniper. It was not something he'd anticipated given how unflinchingly Feltz had taken the strap to Barnes just that morning.

"Yes. His death would be one of my greatest failures." Zola only realised how true these words were as he uttered them.

Feltz seemed to weigh them in his mind before nodding once again. "Then I am content. You have healed the sick and those deaths that have occurred have been in service of a higher purpose. Many men do not get so meaningful a death."

Zola raised an eyebrow and took another sip of his wine. It was really very good, such a shame that village in France where he'd sourced it no longer existed. "Are you sure that that is your honest opinion? After all people with a background not far removed from your own are being rounded up and executed under much the same mandate."

The anger was back in Feltz's gaze "It is a lie, based on hatred, greed and prejudice. Next they will find some other way of judging the 'unworthy', some other people to wipe out." Feltz looked at him unflinchingly and Zola was suddenly all too aware that this man was taller, stronger and far more capable of inflicting damage than he himself was.

The Sergeant stood up from his chair and began pacing, glass still in hand. Within a few moments he seemed to have calmed a little, but it was equal parts fascinating and disconcerting to see the passion and conviction lying beneath the man's surface.

Yes, it had been a most informative evening so far.

Feltz stopped his agitated back and forth and turned to once again face the still-seated Zola.

"I believe you picked Barnes for your work for his strengths rather than his weaknesses. Am I correct?"

Zola nodded his agreement. It was certainly true for Barnes. His previous subjects, less so. But they were not the matter under discussion at the present time.

"And I have seen enough to know you do not believe that Aryans are the superior race and that there are lesser races that need to be 'removed'."

Again he nodded. Determining worth by race was beyond idiotic. He had far more accurate ways to determine an individual's value.

"Therefore I am your man Herr Doctor, if you wish it."

Zola smiled. It was turning out to be a most fulfilling day all round.

"Thank you Sergeant, I am most gratified to hear it." He waved the man back into his seat at the table. "Now tell me how our young American fared after our session. Leave out no detail." Zola frowned once more. "I regret the necessity for the procedure, but it is indeed necessary."

"I trust your judgement Herr Doctor. The prisoner recovered even faster than you indicated he would. He was able to walk unsupported before we even got out to the factory yard."

Zola was unable to contain his excitement at this news. "What about his behaviour towards you and Koller? Was it changed in any way?"

Feltz actually laughed. "Towards me, no. If he had not invented at least two entirely new insults for me during our tasks I would have been far more concerned Herr Zola. He did seem a little surprised at Koller's animosity towards him though. He has become used to dodging the man’s, ah, reprisals. He did not do that today."

Zola topped up both their wine glasses. This was promising indeed.

"Sir, is that what the machine does? Change behaviours?" The Sergeant seemed honestly curious.

"Not just behaviours Feltz, if I am right it can reshape minds," he leaned back in his chair, smiling as he contemplated the possibilities, "and maybe even hearts as well."

From the look on Feltz's face, his last pronouncement had surprised the man. He was clearly unfamiliar with shock therapy as a whole. Maybe he needed to make it clear that Barnes was a special case.

"It has been shown to be beneficial for victims of shell shock and is used regularly to help ease troubled minds Sergeant. Barnes' changes should allow me to take this correction process further with him than would be possible on anyone 'unaltered'."

That seemed to ease some of the man's tension at least. But he had at least one more question in him, Zola could tell that much.

"Then all I can ask Sir is why?"

Zola put down the glass he'd been nursing. "Soldiers are weapons for their nations are they not Sergeant?"

The man conceded this with a nod of his head.

"It is not enough to simply have better weapons than your enemies. If you can, you must also deprive him of his. Sergeant Barnes is an excellent soldier. A sniper. One of America's best weapons in the field. But he was lost, and now I wish to re-purpose him and turn him back on his former masters. Once a few of my own upgrades have been made. After all, the weapon is not our enemy. Our enemy is the hand that wields it."

Feltz seemed to agree with his sentiment. But Zola had been mistaken, that question was not his last.

"But one man, one weapon - surely alone this can make no difference?"

Zola picked up his wine glass once again and took an appreciative sip. "If all goes to plan, Barnes will be simply the first of his kind. But even if that aim is not achieved, I've always believed war is far too wasteful a way of reshaping the world. One 'special' agent removing the right target could change far more in a much shorter space of time. You don't seem shocked Feltz?"

Zola had expected the career soldier to show at least some negative reaction to the 'dishonourable' methods he was outlining, but if anything Feltz looked interested in the concept.

"No Herr Zola. Those who find something honourable in war have never lived it."

His sentiments exactly.

Zola looked down at his plate. What was left of his meal was now cold and unappealing, but no matter. Food was now the last thing on his mind. This felt like the start of things finally coming under his control. He'd been subject to the whims of others now for too long.

"Sergeant, we must repeat the day's activities again tomorrow. Is this something you are willing to do?"

With a resolute look in his eye, the Hydra man nodded his head in a firm 'yes'.

"And after the procedure we'll be leaving this place and transporting Barnes and my equipment to our new location."

Zola gave the one-time officer a searching look. "If things go as I wish these next few days, Barnes may become our most important resource, our work here and our progress must, from here on in, be a highly-guarded secret. Can I trust you to protect him if I place him in your keeping?"

He could see the understanding dawn in Feltz's eyes. He was offering him a significant promotion in all but name. He'd be his military right-hand after all, and would be in charge of Barnes' training once he'd achieved the right level of conditioning. Zola had a theoretical understanding of it all of course, but the application was far removed from his own specialisms. Feltz would be ideal to both guide and guard Zola's creation. But first he needed to remove the first real threat to the security of the project and prove his loyalty beyond question.

"Koller." The name was stated without question or emotion.

"Indeed Sergeant. What is your response?"

Feltz met his gaze with his own clear and unwavering one. "Heil Hydra."

Zola could not have said it better himself.


	25. Delay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zola's getaway gets away from him...
> 
> Not beta-ed for expedient posting's sake, so please point out any typos!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait. The ironically named chapter title was picked out well in advance of my writer's block though. My only excuse is that this chapter required a fair bit of research into WWII rubber shortages and early 20th century psychology. Read Maslow's paper if you get the chance - fascinating stuff. Oh and is anyone else (post superbowl trailer) now convinced that Zemo is the one who left Bucky in that vise for Cap? 
> 
> Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – Morning, Day 20 of testing (2nd November 1943)

He'd woken early. Today held too much of import for lying in. But Zola would not let his excitement get the better of him and drive him to impatience, not today. After a quick breakfast he headed straight to the isolation cell where he found both Feltz and Koller awaiting his arrival outside the door. Zola chose to act as though the issue of Corporal Koller had already been addressed and gave his full attention to Feltz.

"Sergeant, how is our patient this morning?"

The corner of Feltz's mouth twitched up "Surly Sir."

"I doubt that what we have in store for today will do anything to improve his demeanour." Zola half-smiled back at Feltz, "Well not the morning's proceedings anyway." Who knows, after a few more sessions in the chair even Barnes might become agreeable. "Has he eaten?"

"No Sir, not yet."

Zola pondered entering the room, but decided that he had more pressing matters to attend to than satisfying his curiosity.

"Remind him of our agreement. No details. I want to test his recollection. Bring him to the chair in two hours whether he's eaten or no." He probably wouldn't enact his threat at this point but it was a useful tool non-the-less.

The Sergeant nodded and entered the room with Koller hard on his heels. Zola would discuss new personnel with Feltz later. First he needed to go check on how arrangements were progressing for their departure later that day. 

First he reviewed the lab. All of the equipment still here had now had replacements ordered for his new workspace in the factory to the East. It was imperative that this still looked like a fully-functioning lab. It wouldn't do to have his plans foiled by some over-eager underling reporting that he was 'moving out'. After a moment of careful observation Zola headed over to the procedure table and wheeled the Vita Ray generator into position at the foot of the bench. It was best to imply that Stage 4 was imminent in case Schmidt made enquiries or things did not go entirely to plan. When did they ever. Contingencies were vital in this war within a war they were now waging.

With one final assessing look around the room, Zola exited the lab with what could almost be construed as a bounce in his step. On the whole he was feeling cautiously optimistic about today. He headed down the corridor, down several flights of stairs, and along a few more walkways until he heard the unmistakable sound of the machining workshop ringing down the concrete hallway to greet him.

He looked around for Rheinhard and spotted the Major supervising work at one of the forges on the far side.

He stepped into the over-heated, noisy interior of the metalworks. For some this environment with its oppressive temperatures and constant din might seem like one of the lesser circles of hell, but to him it was the future in motion.

After a few moments the solidly-built Major was made aware of his presence by one of his workers - all Hydra here, the work was too skilled to trust it to the prisoners - and he quickly crossed the floor to greet his superior.

Rheinhard nodded his close-cropped dark-haired head in a respectful greeting "Herr Zola, you've come to inspect the containment unit I presume?"

The Major was a skilled engineer as well as an able officer. Zola had more time for him than the other lackwits that made up Hydra's upper ranks on the whole. The officer pointed towards one of the doorways that led off the left-hand side of the main work space. "This way if you please Sir."

Zola followed the thickset Major into the assembly room he'd indicated, and past various bomb parts and half-assembled engines he saw his commission. The six-foot-six unit resembled a cut-off torpedo tube more than anything else. Only the glass window and the external pipework at the sides that marred the otherwise clean lines revealed that it was anything different. The Major hung back by the doorway, allowing the Doctor to advance and examine this realisation of one of his more innocuous-looking but highly revolutionary designs in near privacy.

He checked the back of the unit where it rested against the wall. It looked perfectly flat. Good, it would need to be easily transportable and that would mean it would have to be able to be transported lying down. He quickly evaluated the dimensions, and was pleased to see that despite being marginally longer than he'd specified, it should still easily fit into the back of one of the transport trucks he'd requisitioned.

He moved back around the front and examined the fitting of the glass in the observation window. "You were able to attain the glass I requested?" he asked Rheinhard without turning around.

"Yes Doctor Zola, though my contact in Naval supplies warns that he will not be able to procure any more from this point on. The party pay too close attention to all things related to the U-boats."

Zola frowned. Yet another inconvenient repercussion of Schmidt's hasty divorce from the Nazis. If he'd been given more notice - any notice - he could have stockpiled useful and hard to construct materials such as the pressure and temperature resistant glass he'd required for this project. It was a necessity and yet not something he could justify setting up his own production line for.

He examined the triple-layered insert that would allow him to keep a careful eye on Barnes' condition once he was contained inside. He'd ordered enough for three replacements (or additional units) as the likelihood of this batch being destroyed by a super-strong individual was even higher than that of the last device he'd used it in.

Next he moved around to the side with the latch and undid the pressurised seal. The front of the unit swung open with an effortless and smooth motion that raised a smile on the Doctor's face. Glorious. The interior looked featureless and basic but everything in it had been machined with pinpoint precision. There was nothing that could be damaged, broken loose or used to cause injury to the occupant. The working of the door were inaccessible and the interior was too confined to allow any freedom of movement for arms or legs. In short it was inescapable. Zola smiled again; it was truly a beautiful piece of work.

He re-sealed the door and traversed around to the other side of the unit to investigate the external hinges and the pipe system he'd requested as a late addition. Everything was meeting his exacting standards, until he looked at the intake port and noticed granules of some material around the edge of the connector valve. He stepped in and adjusted his glasses to improve his focus. At first glance he'd assumed they were left-over metal filings - sloppy but excusable - but on closer examination they clearly weren't metallic in nature and within moments he'd identified the source. Much to his displeasure. 

"Major, the pressure valve on this isn't fit for use. The rubber seal has perished. Bring me your spares."

Zola had expected the typically efficient Rheinhard to eagerly run to fulfil his request, considering the embarrassment this kind of oversight would be causing him. Yet there was no movement behind him.

Zola readjusted his glasses and turned around.

Rheinhard looked mortified "Sir, we have no spares. That was the last of our stock. The rubber shortage..."

Zola felt his eyes narrow. Incompetents. What had he done to deserve being surrounded by so many incompetents?

"Then use the phone and see if any of our other facilities have any on hand you fool. Without it the ventilation system is compromised and my subject a good as dead. We must have it here today."

The ruddily-complexioned man was now noticeably pale "Of course Herr Zola. Forgive me. I'll see to it at once."

He most assuredly would. Or otherwise he'd answer for it. Zola needed to get Barnes out of this installation before Schmidt arrived. He was aware of a growing feeling of disquiet rising up through his body, and as much as he hated such primitive instincts dictating his behaviour, he couldn't help but feel that somehow, this once, it was justified. That somehow any failure in this regard would cost him dearly in terms to what was most precious to him; his work and his autonomy.

But he quickly stamped down on his dread. He'd promised himself years ago--after finally escaping the clutches of school-yard bullies--that he would never let anyone, or indeed anything, control him through fear. He even stood up to the Skull when the need arose did he not?

He waited impatiently for Rheinhard's return, giving the chamber a more thorough examination now that his faith in the man's competence had been so totally undermined. On visual inspection alone it appeared adequate, but he had already determined that he'd run it through the full gamut of structural integrity tests before he put it to its true intended use. He had no intentions of loosing as important a creation as his Soldier was sure to be to some minor machining defect.

He heard the heavy thudding footsteps of the head engineer, and turned to see the officer re-enter the room with a hesitance that was vaguely ridiculous for a man of his size and stature. Zola could already feel himself tensing in anticipation of the pitiful excuses that were undoubtedly about to issue forth.

"Sir, I regret to inform you that our colleagues report that the closest available part is in our Czechoslovakian stock room. With the German patrols it will take a day at the very least..."

At least the man had the courage to look him in the eye as he reported his failure and he knew his place. Not all of the Hydra--militia now he supposed--were as self aware.

"I see." He knew his displeasure was clear in his tone. But there was no point in taking out his anger on Rheinhard who was usually one of the marginally more intelligent cogs in the Hydra machine. "Tell them to get under-way and see if there is anything they can do to expedite the delivery. That will be all Major."

"Yes Sir." Rheinhard threw him a salute--not usually something afforded to him by the military types--and eagerly left the room to carry out his orders.

Zola took a deep cleansing breath. It would be counter-productive to allow this anger to influence his behaviour. He was above this. Fostering such negative emotions would only cloud his judgement and potentially skew his observations and decision making. His earlier good humour now seemed impossible to re-capture.

He stood staring at the contraption that was the source of his current frustrations. If he had more time then perhaps he could have come up with an alternative method of reliable transportation for Barnes, but as things stood he'd simply have to wait and hope that for once the fates would decide in his favour. It was regrettably out of his hands.

He checked his wristwatch. There was still at least 40 minutes until his scheduled appointment with Barnes. And it was most assuredly a good idea for him to regain his composure before that encounter or his work, and most likely Barnes as well, would undoubtedly suffer as a result.

Zola paused before deciding his best course of action was to head to the kitchen for a quick bite. After all if he didn't meet his base needs how would he ever attain his highest self? He found himself biting back a chuckle as he stepped back into the workshop. Any sign of levity would undermine his stance of extreme displeasure towards their recent failure. That wouldn't do.

He headed down the empty hallway in the direction of the factory kitchens.

He must go back and re-read Maslow's paper. After the first session with Barnes perhaps? His Hierarchy of Needs was a wonderfully insightful study of the human condition, one he fully intended to use to help shape and control the asset he was sure the Sergeant would become. And he needed a distraction from his current inability to shape his desired outcomes - planning the first steps of a conditioning process for his Soldier would be at least a productive use of this unwanted extra time he now had to endure.

He would freely admit that his mood was still far from optimal. Not that there was anyone here who would enquire.

Anyway, some quick refreshments would work wonders on that he was sure. Then he could return to his efforts to 'change the world'.

Maybe a slice of that exceptional ginger cake if they had any freshly prepared? Yes that would most certainly do the trick.


	26. Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure the ginger cake really did the job...
> 
> Apologies for falling down a rabbit hole - I blame Civil War. Back now. :) Hope the chunky chapter makes up for some of the wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: I seem to love making Zola immensely petty. Zola having already started the 'wipes' is my head cannon for not wanting to accept that a) Bucky would lie to his superiors at debrief about what he'd been through and b) lie to Steve and the Howlies, even if only by omission. 
> 
> Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – Late Morning, Day 20 of testing (2nd November 1943)

 

The cake had disappointingly been a little dry this time. Everything it seemed was attempting to vex and frustrate him today.

Zola briskly climbed the too-steep staircases up to the research level and was disturbed to find himself more winded by the exertion than typical. The burn in his calf muscles more keenly felt. He paused a moment at the top of the final flight to compose himself. There were no guards currently stationed in the hallway, so he afforded himself a little extra time to recover from the ascent.

This wouldn't do. 

Clearly with so many projects on his plate he'd been neglecting his own health lately. It would be beyond foolish to expend this much effort to achieve his aims only to then harm his true aspirations. He'd work some additional light exercise into his daily routine once he was settled in his new location.

He moved along the dimly lit corridor and into the chair room, and was pleased to see Barnes already strapped down into the machine just as he'd wished, bare-chested and pinning him with that look of profound hatred he'd come to know so well over the past few weeks. He smiled back. It was a promising sign that, as hoped for, the Sergeant's memories were already mostly restored.

Feltz was already in position to the side of the chair, the leather strap held loosely in his right hand. Koller was...

Where was Koller?

The brute was nowhere to be seen. His glowering presence markedly and blissfully absent for a change. He turned to Feltz who looked as relaxed and composed as always, and decided whatever had removed the Corporal from the proceedings could only be counted as a blessing. His enquiries could wait. What he was doing here was of many factors more importance than the guard's current location.

Still smiling, Zola walked over to the equipment tray that was still in place from the prior day's session, pushed up against the wall behind him and directly in Barnes' heavily-restricted eye-line. He lifted off the cover, picked up the only two items lying on its unyielding surface, and walked towards Barnes brandishing them before him; the bite guard and his word cards. His proverbial carrot and stick. Well almost.

He stopped a few feet in front of the chair and its captive.

"Now Sergeant are you feeling more co-operative today? Or are you going to force us to yet more unpleasantness?" He saw Barnes' eyes briefly focus on the cards. He remembered at least that then. Wonderful. The regenerative effects of the serum in his mind were seemingly on a par with those in his body.

Zola held out the bite guard and the cards in open palms towards the soldier, as if he had the freedom to reach forward and take his selection from the Doctor's hands. "The easy way, or the hard way. It is entirely your choice."

Of course the point of the exercise was for the Sergeant to pick the hard way, at least the majority of the time. The programming wouldn't take effect otherwise.

The glare aimed at him hardened--which in and of itself was a noteworthy feat--and Zola began to turn away to return the bite guard, at least temporarily, to its original spot. He could imagine himself developing a taste for this kind of work. Turning an opponent's own strengths against them was intricate and fascinating, reminding him more of the delightful stratagems of chess than the brutality of war. He stopped a moment at the tray to visualise his next few moves - always vital to success in a game.

"Wait."

Unable to control his surprise Zola spun around at the sound of Barnes' voice. It was unexpected to say the least.

Barnes looked back at him, before glancing sideways at Feltz (strap held loosely at his side) and then looking away, "OK".

It wasn't the anticipated outcome in this scenario, but skipping the conditioning this once and going straight to the treatment couldn't hurt. He was sure that the Sergeant's obstinacy would return at the next available opportunity, and with so much requiring his attention before Herr Schmidt's arrival the following day time was a resource in which he was sorely lacking.

And compliance was always acceptable behaviour.

Zola gave the Sergeant a small nod of approval, "I'm glad you've seen sense. I wish to make this as easy on you as possible."

Well there would be pain, that was unavoidable, but the faster he perfected the memory wiping technique, the sooner Barnes could fulfil his purpose, and with purpose invariably came peace and contentment. Long term he was certainly acting in the boy's best interests, of this he had no doubt.

He approached the chair, sterilised bite-guard in hand. He held it out for Barnes to take like the boxer he knew him to be thanks to his file, but it quickly became obvious that thanks to the straps holding him down, even a span of a few inches was too far out of reach.

With a quiet huff of annoyance, Zola took an uncomfortable half step forward. He hated being in close proximity to anyone, even his subjects unless they were unconscious. He leaned forwards and pressed the guard against Barnes' closed mouth. The boys' eyes met his, uncharacteristically empty of emotion, and his lips finally parted to accept the rubber bit. Maybe they'd actually managed to break their young stallion to saddle at long last?

Zola only realised his mistake the moment he saw those blue-grey irises flash back to life.

Barnes bit hard on the guard and yanked his head round with as much force as he could muster. Which, even with the restraints in place, was just enough to upset Zola's balance. His ankle connected solidly with the footrest of the chair and it was enough to send him tumbling towards the hard ground in a way he hadn't experienced since his childhood. He heard the unmistakable sound of breaking glass as his side impacted heavily with the concrete floor.

Sure enough, as he stood and dusted himself off after ingraciously waving away Feltz's offer of assistance, Zola rotated his wrist to inspect the damage. His new watch was ruined. Both the glass and face broken. What a travesty. He would have to dig out his old pocket watch again. But it was a small inconvenience, nothing more.

He turned his attention back to Barnes and felt his gaze narrow despite his intention to not react. He'd once been an expert at it.

"That was foolish. I've clearly overestimated your intelligence Sergeant."

Barnes actually laughed, emitting a raspy chuckle. "Not the first time I've heard that."

Zola turned away and walked back towards the tray before he could do or say something 'regrettable'. Emotions had no place in the laboratory, and currently Barnes' reanimated expression was provoking far too many in the scientist. He removed the ruined watch with a moment of mourning for the wanton destruction of so fine a piece of precision engineering, and then examined the quickly-rising bruises on his wrist. He would be sore but it was not enough to hamper his work.

He picked up the stack of cards, and after a moment's deliberation reached into his jacket pocket and removed a dozen more. He hadn't planned to escalate this soon but now seemed like an ideal time for a learning exercise for the Sergeant. He slipped these new cards into the deck and turned back to face his prisoner.

Feltz was back stood in position exactly as Zola had known he would be. The bite guard was on the less than immaculate floor in front of the chair. He had all his pieces he just needed the correct strategy, he needed to move them if the right ways at the right time and he would have his victory.

Keeping his eyes on Barnes he addressed his instructions to the Hydra officer. "The signal to strike is 'rescue'." He saw the smallest of flinches in Barnes' expression at the word. Good, their previous session had made some lasting impact after all.

He paused a moment and considered his knowledge of his subject and his aims for the process as a whole. Loyalty and a deep-seated protective instinct were undoubtedly two of the Sergeant's most admirable character traits, but they were also easily-exploitable weaknesses. Something he'd already made use of. Time to apply pressure there again. He could even turn Koller's absence to his advantage.

Six of the new cards he'd added to his stack were printed with 'rescue', while the other six had been left blank to allow him the opportunity for some creative thinking and  he'd just been struck by inspiration. People forgot that the Muses were gods and gods were often cruel.

Now where was it?

 He patted down his many pockets until he found the small remote control switch he'd been playing around with over breakfast. It would do the job nicely.

He held up the unfamiliar device for the Sergeant to view. "When the card bearing the word 'benign' is drawn, I will use this to signal Corporal Koller so that he may give the blow to one of your fellow captives in your stead."

Barnes had gone totally still. "You promised."

"That amnesty only extended to your cellmates, not the entirety of your regiment Sergeant."

"You're lying."

The surety with which the young soldier said it, and the steely determination on his blue eyes were impressive to be sure, but Zola knew that he was gaining the higher ground. "I'm surprised you would think so" he replied jovially. "Shall we begin?"

He shuffled the cards and lifted the top one. "Cattle."

Barnes remained resolutely still, hatred-filled eyes fixed on Zola.

"He's picked out a young man called Harris I believe, a Private." A man of many uses the Private. He turned over the next one. "Furnace." He slips that one to the bottom of the pile and draws another. "Rescue."

Feltz let's fly with the strap, but the Sergeant's head had already started moving away from the blow as soon as the word left the Doctor's lips. Zola fought back a smile. It was exactly as he hoped.

The blow still landed with enough force to leave a livid red welt and a shallow cut across the boy's jaw. Barnes turned his head back to resume his death-glare and spit out a mouthful of blood in Zola's general direction that of course fell well short. How unsanitary.

"Locomotive." He picks up the pace. Ah, how fortunate. "Rescue."

This time Feltz waits until Barnes has braced himself before striking instead at the soldier's unprotected stomach with more force than he'd used up to this point. Sergeant Barnes fight training or no, looked like he would have doubled over at the blow if the restraints holding him down hadn't made that impossible.

Even Barnes' formidable stubbornness couldn't prevent him from letting out a pained gasp as the leather split his skin.

Zola saw Feltz look over to gage the Doctor's reaction to the move and he inclined his head to show his approval. It was reassuring to see that the man had embraced what he was trying to achieve here. And unlike Koller, Zola had faith that Feltz's brutality would be tightly controlled and expertly applied.

"Penguin. They are delightful creatures are they not Sergeant Barnes?" Sergeant Barnes refused to comment. He'd recovered enough to resume his glaring in spite of the blood trickling down his stomach to stain his waistband. Zola took the moment to put down the cards and clean his spectacles. "A conversation for another time perhaps?"

He hooked the eye glasses back over his ears and pushed them up to the correct resting place on the bridge of his nose. This room and this time was his to use how he saw fit. If he could get Barnes to grasp that reality here today it would be the first of (many he was sure) steps to bring the young man to the inevitable acceptance that the same now applied to him.

He picked up the stack of cards from the tray. "Let's continue shall we, huum?" He turned over yet another of the white cards. "Sunset. Ah, my favourite time of day." He placed the card down on the tray, holding all 60 in his small hands became uncomfortable after a while. He drew another. It was blank. "Oh, how unfortunate. Still it must be done. 'Benign'." He slipped the cards into a pocket, lifted the remote switch from its resting place on the equipment tray and held it up.

"Stop. I'll do what you want." Barnes' voice sounded brittle.

Zola lowered his prop. Yes, he'd found a promising fracture point in the boy's defences, now he needed only to apply the correct amount of pressure.

"I am happy that you have seen sense Sergeant Barnes. But we have just seen this scene played out and you failed to honour your word. I require an apology for your earlier disobedience and behaviour. I will not suffer disrespect under any circumstances."

Barnes looked as though he were about to be sick. But he gathered himself and once again met Zola's eyes. "I apologise for my earlier behaviour." He was even attempting to dim the hatred in his gaze. 'Bravo Sergeant'.

Zola nodded in approval. "There I knew you could be reasonable." He raised the switch and pressed his thumb firmly on the button. Somewhere in his lab a bulb was likely flashing.

Barnes' already pale face became a shade whiter. Zola guessed anger was the cause.

"I did what you asked. I apologised, I said I'll co-operate. Just leave Harris alone." Yes definitely anger. Zola was beginning to wonder if the boy had any self-preservation instincts at all.

"That was never up for negotiation Sergeant. The time to avoid the suffering that Harris is about to experience, along with your own, was through making the smart decision when we began our session. Need I remind you that you agreed to follow my instructions. I've been lenient so far." Zola stepped closer to the young American. "Thanks to my efforts you now have certain ah, shall we say advantages, that make any 'correction' we give you easier for you to shake off than it would be for your compatriots. I'm sure you must have noticed this by now."

The pained and nauseous look was back on Barnes' expressive face. Clearly he'd hoped he'd been imaging the changes the treatments had made to him.

"I can see you have." Zola smiled tightly. "All actions have consequences my boy, this is the cost of yours. But I am not an unreasonable man," he pulled out the cards and made a show of searching through them, drawing out one of the 5 remaining blank cards, "you admitted your mistake which I know is hard for a proud individual like yourself, therefore you have spared Harris one-fifth of his ordeal". He placed the card down on the tray. "And if your behaviour today is satisfactory going forward I may even allow you to convince me to let you take the punishment in his place in our next session."

He watched the boy's face as his words sank in and Barnes realised that the game had changed. Fear followed by an oddly determined resignation.

Zola had to wonder if he'd sacrificed his own safety to protect someone else before, he would not be all that surprised if that were the case, it fit well with his analysis of the young man. There was no time to begin like the present..."We'll re-commence on your mark Sergeant."

Nothing happened for a moment or two, and Zola wondered if he'd miscalculated, but Barnes looked away, gazing into the far corner of the room and nodded his head sharply. Zola's smile grew and he turned over the next card. "Longing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was ahead of proceedings with the trigger words it would appear - but I couldn't resist slipping a few from Civil War into Zola's list as he starts to try and control Bucky's behaviour. Next chapter will pick up towards the end of the session, because no-one wants to see Bucky go through all that...(plus it would be a tad monotonous to write).


	27. Advancement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only a day and a half of this literal torture to go now. Hang on in there Bucky! Oh, he can't hear me. That sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: These characters are all Marvel's. I make no money from this and in fact give Marvel (willingly) lots of my money so they will continue creating movies I love.
> 
> Author's Note: Zola wraps up his re-education session and gets ready for a visit from the boss.
> 
> Rated for human experimentation, medical torture and the other lovely stuff that Zola seems to enjoy so much. Featuring Arnim Zola, Johann Schmidt, Sgt James Barnes, Steve Rogers and more.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – Early Afternoon, Day 20 of testing (2nd November 1943)

They had worked their way down to just the last few cards now. Zola had tallied that all but one of his current stack of 'rescue' cue cards had now made their way onto the face up pile neatly arranged on the metal surface of the stand behind him. And somewhere in that seemingly harmless short stack of white rectangles was the final one of his blank-faced trumps. The ploy had undoubtedly been highly effective. Though the same could also be said for the work of Feltz's arm. 

The increased number and strength of his blows he'd administered over the last hour or so, had left the normally immaculate man rumpled and at times breathing heavily. As for what they'd done to his American counterpart...Barnes was a sight to behold. Used with greater force the strap's impacts had become lashes and his body bore the evidence of why that method of corporal punishment had eventually been phased out.

The soldier was slumped forward against the restraints, that now seemed to be holding him up as much as they were holding him down. A good dozen, torso-wide and ruler-straight cuts littering his body at various angles were bleeding freely, if at an ever decreasing rate. But not enough had been lost to necessitate a transfusion Zola was pleased to note. It would have been yet another avoidable delay to his research. After the effects of the first half-dozen blows had become apparent, Zola had resorted to taking Feltz aside and instructing him to alternate the strap with his fists. He still needed Barnes in good enough shape to withstand a session in the chair and come out standing on the other side. Or at the very least conscious.

Zola turned over the top card. It was blank. "Benign." He pressed his button for show even though the Sergeant seemed to no longer be paying attention to his actions. Merely hearing the word though was enough to provoke a visible physical reaction in Barnes. It was all progressing very nicely. "Parasol." That card joined the large discarded pile behind him. Again. Ah, and there it was. "Rescue." He tidied away the now unnecessary last few cards, and turned back to see Feltz dragging the boy's head up by the hair from its slumped position against his bloody chest, before landing a heavy punch to the side of Barnes' already battered face with a gloved hand. The strike re-opened a partially healed cut just below his left eye.

As Zola watched the fresh blood start to flow, and contemplated the potential requirement for stitches if the cut had deepened, he noticed silent tears running down the Sergeant's face. Clearly this had been the perfect approach to take. Zola walked towards the chair, pausing along the way to retrieve the mouth guard from the spot on the floor it had occupied since the start of all this. He looked at the Hydra officer. "Thank you Feltz. Please retrieve my medical bag from my lab. It will be under my desk." His assistant in everything but name nodded his understanding, tugged on his uniform coat as if the straighten it, and rushed out of the room to carry out the Doctor's wishes as if the very hounds of hell were on his trail. Zola was glad that the man had taken no pleasure in what he'd just done, but he'd need to temper his reactions the next time. They could show no weaknesses to the Sergeant. It would inspire hope and lead to fruitless and painful resistance. A poor outcome for all concerned.

He returned his attention to his subject. Barnes' head was leaning back against the chair's headrest--something Zola had noticed he'd actively avoided previously-- and the crying seemed to have slowed, if not quite stopped. "I hope this has been instructive Sergeant. I'd prefer to avoid a repeat if at all possible." He'd need to get some real food in the boy soon, he was starting to look far too lean.

"It won't work."

Zola cut short his preliminary exam at the American's emotion-roughened words and found Barnes glaring at him once again, tears no-longer falling.

"Whatever you're trying to do here. It won't work."

"It already has my boy." Feltz re-entered the room holding the Doctor's bag and waited for his instructions. "I'll need sterilised water and gauze. And a handkerchief - you'll locate one in the front compartment."

Feltz placed the brown leather bag on the floor and knelt to extract the requested objects from its interior. Standing up he handed the Doctor the requested items before snapping back to attention. Seemingly he was over whatever personal crisis he'd been experiencing and was back to his usual professional self. For a second Zola considered the pros and cons of the obvious empathy the man felt for what was essentially an enemy. But once the transformation was complete maybe allowing a bond between the soldier and his eventual handler would have some long-term benefits. It was worth contemplating. But this moment was all about establishing control over this wilful young man. His control. "Head back Sergeant."

For a moment Barnes merely stared at him as though he was picturing putting a bullet right between the Doctor's eyes. Then slowly, and with a look of dread flashing across his bruised face, leant his head back against the backboard of the machine.

Zola took the final step forward to the side of the chair. He rinsed off the mouth guard with the sterilised water, uncaring when it dripped down onto the concrete floor below, and dried it off with the edge of the handkerchief before passing it to Feltz. He then wet the gauze and began cleaning the twice opened cut on Barnes' cheekbone. The American's eyes snapped shut. No stitches would be needed, that was good news indeed. It was already closing. Remarkable.

Passing the sterilised water back to Feltz, Zola then took the dry end of the handkerchief and proceeded to wipe away the still damp tear-tracks on the Sergeant's face.

Barnes' jaw clenched, and Zola could see the fingers of his hands grip harder into the padding of the chair arms, but he didn't move away.

Zola finished his task, folded and tucked away the handkerchief in his pocket, and reached across the rigid Sergeant Barnes to retrieve the strap of the neck restraint. Those pale, almost crystalline blue eyes snapped open as Zola pulled the fabric tight before securing it. Unable to resist the impulse, he reached out and patted the young man on the cheek in the way his own father had done to him in his youth. "I think we understand each other now, you and I."

He stepped aside and gestured for Feltz to approach. "Open wide Sergeant if you please."

With unwillingness written in every line of his body, Barnes opened his jaw just wide enough to allow Feltz to fit the mouth guard into place.

Zola had all but had his suspicions confirmed that Barnes not only had all his memories fully intact, but that he also remembered his last experience in the chair. And if he'd retained any doubts, the way Barnes' breathing accelerated when he moved the contacts into position banished them. He walked over to the generator's control panel and after checking to make sure Feltz had moved away, eagerly hit the discharge switch. Barnes began screaming.

Zola watched dispassionately as the soldier thrashed, muscles contracting and pulling against the unmoving straps as his body was thrown into a seizure. Considering how fast the Sergeant had recovered previously, he'd chosen to proceed with both a higher voltage and longer duration of shock this time in hopes of prolonging the effects. Transporting Barnes to the new facility would undoubtedly be stressful for them all, most especially for the boy once we woke up from the initial sedation to find himself contained in the unit and on the move to parts unknown. Not to mention the additional restraints. If he could get a few meals in to Barnes, and for a few hours relieve the unavoidable stress on the Sergeant' system caused by the process, it would be a very good thing indeed. 

"Feltz, your assistance if you would. We will require another set of hands to help the Sergeant here walk this off and return safely to his accommodations." 

"Yes sir." Feltz briskly strode out of the room, once again looking eager to put some space between him and the actions of the last few minutes and hours.

Barnes was trembling and blinking confusedly in the chair, panting heavily around the bite guard still lodged between his teeth, sweat beading at his hairline and temples. Illuminated as he was at that moment, in a weak shaft of dust-heavy winter sunlight, it was a scene that would rival the work of any of the great artists. Zola approached on soft feet, reaching into his coat pocket for the handkerchief he'd tucked away earlier. He wiped away the dampness from the Sergeant's face and undid the neck restraint. Then out came the rubber mouthpiece. "Do you know where you are Sergeant?"

Barnes' breathing had begun to slow, but accelerated again when he looked around and obviously didn't find anything familiar in his stark surroundings. He shook his head. "What about my name?"

"No. Sorry." Barnes' voice was hoarse. Most likely from the screaming.

"There, there, do not worry, that is to be expected." Zola patted Barnes' arm in what was meant to be a re-assuring manner. Feltz was back. He strode into the room accompanied by another vaguely familiar Hydra guard and carrying a glass of water. He handed the glass over to Zola with a nod towards the prisoner. 

Barnes already seemed to be shaking off the after effects of the shock as Zola supported the back of his head and brought the glass to his lips so he could take a drink. He drained most of the liquid in one go, and when Zola moved it away, tried to lean forwards to finish what was left. It was then he seemed to become aware of the straps. The water was of no further interest to him from that point. Feltz stepped forward to take away the glass and pressed something metallic into Zola's palm. Ah, the Sergeant's dog tags. Of course.

"Where am I?"

"You are in Austria, Sergeant Barnes, at a Hydra facility. Your unit was captured. I am Doctor Zola and I have been treating you. You were taken ill. Does any of this sound familiar to you? You have been having some minor memory issues."

The Sergeant shook his head and looked warily at Feltz and the other guard. Weber, that was his name.

"Doc, I'm sure you're a swell guy, so how about telling Laurel and Hardy over there that there's nothing that I can tell them." Barnes voice was only just above a whisper and held a trace of fear. "I can't even remember the beating I apparently just took, never mind anything they'd wanna know." His missing memories were clearly the reason, above and beyond being a captive. 

"Don't worry Sergeant, you're now under my care. Nothing further will befall you today." 

"Thanks Doc. I appreciate it." Obviously the Sergeant was a man with a deep-seated respect for the medical profession in his former life.

Barnes leaned back in the chair and released a deep breath. He looked down at the angry red marks littering his body. "And for whatever you gave me. Pretty sure I should be hurting more than this right now."

Zola began undoing the fastenings around Barnes' torso and arms. How interesting, he'd read that feelings of euphoria were a potential side effect of the shock therapy and that would certainly act on the brain as a natural painkiller. Maybe he could utilise this to his advantage long-term. Make Barnes crave his sessions in the machine. There was definite merit in the idea. He would just have to work out the exact mechanisms at play.

Barnes looked surprised at being released. But massaged his wrists and flexed out his fingers, all while shooting worried glances at the Hydra troopers across the room. "I don't recognise the uniforms. And can't say Hydra rings a bell. But you're Germans right?"

Zola found himself smiling, how delightful. His recalibration had worked perfectly to mitigate some of the worst of the physical effects. He wondered what the Sergeant's reaction would be to this interaction once his memory returned. "Actually I am Swiss, Sergeant Barnes, but yes Hydra is a part of the German armed forces. An advanced research division, which is why you are in my care."

Barnes nodded. "So this memory loss. Is it permanent, Doc?" The tone of the question was light but the note of fear was back in the Sergeant's voice.

Zola retrieved a roll of bandage fabric from his bag and set about wrapping Barnes' ribs. "Do not concern yourself my boy, I'm positive your memories will return to you in short order. What is the last thing you recall?" He slipped the dogtags back over Barnes' head.

Barnes gripped them tightly in his fist then scrunched his eyes shut for a few seconds, "Being shot at in Azzano I think".

So three weeks gone. Wonderful.

"The battle and journey here could not have been pleasant, perhaps you should not push to relive them quite so soon." He bent to release the boy's legs. And Barnes stretched them out with a groan.

"Jesus, still feel like I've just gone 10 rounds with Gus O'Connell though. Now that's something I'd like to forget." A wry half smile appeared for a moment.

Zola gestured for Feltz and Weber to come forwards. "These men will take you to the exercise yard. A chance to stretch out those stiff muscles, followed by some food and rest will do you a world of good."

Barnes gave the two men an evaluating look before nodding once at Zola and carefully standing up. He limped slightly as he walked slowly and shakily between the two soldiers and towards the door. Feltz signalled for Weber to tail him out into the corridor and steer him towards the yard, another guard stationed outside the room emerged from his post concealed outside the door to follow him, "Same as last time Sir?".

"Yes, maybe longer in the yard if you can, he won't get much activity for the next few days so it would be beneficial. I expect the effects should last through the night on this occasion."

Feltz frowned. "Are we not moving him out today then sir?"

Zola felt the good humour bought on by his manifold successes of the last hour or so drain away. "No I'm afraid that we have been beset by an unavoidable delay." On balance it was probably best for him to be present for Herr Schmidt's inspection or, knowing the Skull, he might just track them down to the new location and render the entire exercise pointless at best. He still wanted Barnes on his way before the Hydra leader arrived. He'd use faster transportation and rendezvous with the convoy after the review was completed. Schmidt never stayed long.

"Get the Sergeant another uniform or as near as we have, and see if we can get him to eat at least three times today while he is being so agreeable. We will be required to move at extremely short notice tomorrow Feltz, yourself and your men included, so be prepared."

"Understood sir."

With that Feltz was off after Barnes and his newly appointed keepers. He never did make his enquiry about Koller, Zola realised. Well it could wait. He needed to go over production schedules with Colonel Kleiber for while he was away, and check that a repair made to one of the fuselage components had been made correctly. And that was just his schedule before lunch.

Zola sighed. Well he had better make good use of this unwanted time he had on his hands. Maybe be could reinforce his brain scanning device, already far advanced from a standard EEG, to allow it to be used in conjunction with the shock treatments to record the changes in the subject's brain? Yes, that would be most useful. But first he needed to make ready for Schmidt's visit, and get his belongings secured on a suitable vehicle, and prepare enough repeat doses of the sedative and drug cocktail he planned to use to keep Barnes reasonably docile in his confinement during their journey. So much to do, so much stopping him from doing it at every turn. Sometimes he saw Herr Schmidt's point, perhaps conquering the world was in fact the only way to end all these ceaseless interruptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so it looks like one big ol chapter will pretty much round up proceedings for this part of Zola's tale. Not sure if anyone is still reading this (except Flying Balto - thanks FB!) but I've always been considering taking this (as a series) at the very least through to the end of First Avenger. The next entry would be a Bucky view point continuation covering his rescue, relocation and recruitment to the Howlies. Then back to Zola for his hunt for his missing test subject, Red Skull temper tantrums and the train. If this would be of interest let me know. :)


	28. Destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zola's plans go up in flames. Enter Captain America stage right. Includes a big chunk of dialogue from Captain America: The First Avenger you won't be too surprised to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's our final chapter and it's a biggun. Please read the end notes and remember to review (y'know, if you want). Thanks to those who've stuck out this 28 chapter ride. As you can see this is now part of a series, so please subscribe to that if you'd like to read more.
> 
> *And my Karpov is clearly the original. The guy in Civil War was an idiot grandson as far as I'm concerned.

Hydra factory and prison camp Austria, Zola’s lab – Late afternoon, Day 21 of testing (3rd November 1943)

Arnim was in a terrible mood. A simple rubber valve. That was all he required. How could something so mundane be a stumbling block to a man of his intellect?

An uncomfortable Major Rheinhard had called him on his office phone last evening. And not only had he interrupted the Doctor mid-solder, leading to an uncomfortable burn, but he had then had the gall to inform him that the convoy carrying the required part had been substantially delayed and would turn up at some unspecified time later today. Zola had been livid and a poor night's rest had not improved his disposition one bit. All his plans were in disarray. And Schmidt could arrive at any time.

There was a polite wrap of knuckles on the door frame of the lab. He looked up, ready to reprimand whoever was daring to interrupt his attempt to find some serenity by working on one of his personal projects for a few stolen minutes. Feltz was standing there, the epitome of straight-backed patience and precision, so Zola bit back on his anger and waved the Sergeant forward through the window.

"I do not suppose you have come to inform me of the arrival of our long-awaited convoy Sergeant."

Feltz stood politely far away enough from the desk that Zola wasn't required to strain his neck to look up at the much taller man. "I am afraid not Herr Zola. There is still no sign."

Zola tutted in annoyance. "So what do you have to report?"

"My men and I are ready to go on your word Doctor Zola, we have three trucks fully supplied to your specifications. And we received this communication just now." He placed a telegram down on the desk in front of the Doctor.

Zola adjusted his glasses and read the small text on the note. Schmidt would be arriving within the next few hours. He swept his blueprints to one side and Feltz gave them a curious look. Not even working on this particular design could improve his mood, but something else might. He looked up at the Hydra officer. "Has Barnes' memory returned?"

"He is far less convivial company at present, so I believe it is safe to say that is the case" Feltz replied with a tight smile.

"Bring him to the chair, we have no time for the conditioning with Herr Schmidt on his way, but there is something else I am keen to try as soon as possible."

Feltz looked reticent. "Again Sir, so soon?"

Zola stood and started gathering up his now-improved EEG electrode array. "Your arm will not be needed in this instance Feltz, but the sooner we bring Sergeant Barnes to heel the better. The machine alone is not enough. Remember that a horse cannot fulfil its potential until it is broken. The same is true of our young soldier."

Feltz nodded firmly if not enthusiastically. "When do you need him, Sir?"

Zola stopped riffling through his desk drawers for his previous scans of Barnes' brain to look up at the man in irritation. "At once, Sergeant. We have no time to waste!"

Realising the Doctor's patience was in short supply, Feltz promptly left the office to carry out Barnes' transfer. Zola stuffed the brain scans and a few other files of notes on his work on Barnes into his document case. That way they were at least ready to accompany him. He looked at his diagrams of his mechanical man.

No, they would need to stay here, at least temporarily, so it looked as though work was continuing on as normal.

And last but not least...Where was it?

He spotted the switch on top of his filing cabinet and placed it into the pocket of his tweed jacket. That done, he scooped up his sensors and the portable display and headed to where he hoped Barnes would be awaiting him.

He entered the room to find it empty. 

He placed down the equipment harder than he meant too and winced at the resultant bang as metal met concrete. Suddenly he heard footsteps approaching and turned around in time to see Feltz, Werner and, yes, Koller, carrying a barely-conscious and definitely worse for wear Barnes between them. Why was he not surprised that Koller's return coincided with this turn of events? Zola's eyes narrowed as he watched the men position and secure Barnes into the machine.

"Would someone care to tell me what happened here?"

Feltz stood up from giving the Sergeant's bonds a final adjustment. "Our guest of honour refused your invitation, Sir. Corporal Koller refused to take no as his answer and decided to expedite matters." Koller simply stood to attention with no expression on his heavyset face.

It was evident that Koller's method of persuasion had been a baton to the head. Zola made a sound of disgust, moved his equipment over to the chair and pushed Feltz out of the way so he could evaluate the damage done by the man Feltz had failed to deal with as requested. He should not have assumed it had been taken care of, so ultimately the failure was his own. 

Barnes' eyelids fluttered in a fight to regain consciousness and he groaned as Zola probed the impact area on the left side of his head. There was blood, most likely a concussion and an impressive bump was already forming, but luckily it appeared there were no skull fractures. As long as Barnes came around in the next few minutes they should still be safe to proceed. He was difficult to damage already, his soldier. He lifted one of the Sergeant's eyelids only to have him flinch away from his hand. That was a good sign. He pulled off the dogtags. The discharge would be longer this time and he wanted to avoid further injury.

He turned to look at Feltz. "Get him out of my sight."

Koller looked worried. "Herr Zola I'm sorry if I misunderst-"

"Now Feltz." Zola was seething, but Barnes was definitely starting to revive and groggy he could work with.

Feltz shoved the moronic Corporal out of the room. Hopefully that was the last time Zola would have to be disturbed by his idiocy.

The Doctor walked over to the equipment tray, removed the cover and picked up the mouth guard. Quickly walking back to Barnes, he pinched the Sergeants nose closed for a few seconds forcing him to part his lips in order to breathe. He quickly fit the guard into place over the boy's teeth and then pushed his jaw closed. Barnes wasn't yet awake enough try spitting it out. Zola then quickly set up his scanning equipment, ignoring the presence of the two other men in the room with him. He flicked on the screen and watched the flashes of activity appear over the approximation of Barnes' brain. Beautiful.

He leant over the soldier to move the electrical contacts into a new, slightly amended position and saw that the boy's eyes were now half-open and focused on him. "Goodbye again Sergeant Barnes." He hit the switch and stepped clear. The prolonged scream that followed was now to him the sound of the future being rewritten. Glorious. The Sergeant's body went into the anticipated fit. Zola was sure he could remove this part of the process given enough time. Or at least reduce it to virtually nothing. The muscle spasms were a highly undesirable side effect of a process aimed at the mind.

When the tremors stopped, Barnes was still, too still. Zola felt panic start to rise in his chest and jumped forward, fingers reaching for Barnes neck to locate a pulse. He let out a breath as his fingers quickly found one, strong, even and regular. He watched the boy's breathing and the activity still flashing across the display. Astonishingly all signs indicated the American was simply asleep. If very deeply so.

Feltz stepped forward. "Sir?"

Zola waved him away. "It is fine. Fetch the gurney from the storage room, we'll need it to transfer him." Feltz took it as the dismissal it was. He and Werner left to fetch the trolley.

Zola flicked a few switches on his monitor to change the display from live view to the recorded data his system was designed to store. He ran through the captured images from before and during the shock and those taken directly after. Under the influence of the trauma and the shock combined with the endorphin surge his brain had seemingly protected itself and pushed the young Sergeant into a sleep cycle rather than less beneficial unconsciousness. How extraordinary. He was however bleeding sluggishly from both his ears. That was far from ideal. Zola scowled. He could only hope it was due to Koller's earlier actions and not his own adjustments.

The guards returned wheeling the cushioned conveyance between them. Zola carefully undid the straps and removed the guard from between Barnes' teeth, then with light hands the three of them lifted and then lay down the sleeping soldier on the gurney. Holding him in place by hand they travelled down the poorly-lit corridors and arrived back at the lab where Feltz and Weber wasted no time in getting Barnes re-secured on the examination table. Zola turned on a lamp, the sun had set in the short time they'd been away.

"Thank you Weber, you may leave us." The Corporal nodded and with a salute left the lab, taking the gurney with him, to return to whatever station he'd been pulled away from to assist his superior.

Zola decided Feltz could wait for the time being. The dogtags were back around the Barnes' neck he noted. He wondered which of the two had done it. Base sentimentality. If all had gone to plan he had already wiped one of the boy's long-term memories. It was only a matter of days or weeks before all the rest, and his name, followed.

He moved to his storage units and pulled out two newly sterilised hypodermics and a scalpel. Then locating the correct vials from a selection to the side of the bench holding Barnes, he loaded up the syringes with the appropriate measures, placing them to rest on the surgical trolley. He gently pulled up the Sergeant's left sleeve and with highly practised motions, sterilised the area and administered the first injection in just seconds. He stood back and watched for a moment, waiting for the sedative cocktail to do its work.

The American's breaths deepened as the drugs took hold and ensured he wouldn't regain consciousness for some time.

Zola swapped the used needle for the second one lying in place on the surgical tray and released the content into the same vein. This one was a local anaesthetic and would require a few minutes to have the required effect.

He walked into his office, and using forceps carefully removed his latest device, completed just this morning, from its position under the microscope and placed it into a sample dish which he then liberally filled with sterilising alcohol. Picking up the two identical small, round, compass-like objects from the bench alongside him, he headed back towards his patient.

Temporarily laying down his cargo on the tray next to the discarded hypodermics, Zola picked up the scalpel. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Feltz watching with interest. Careful to avoid and veins and arteries, Zola made a 4mm incision across the skin of Barnes' upper arm, applying just enough pressure to cut through the dermal tissue. He wiped away the blood and quickly resterilising the forceps he used them to pick up the tiny, virtually flat radio transponder he'd created and inserted it below the top layers of the skin.

He was thrilled. No sign of it was visible other than the cut, and that would soon close leaving the device virtually undetectable to anyone. Unless they had either of the two receivers paired with it. He pressed a slightly raised area on the outside rim of each of the two round tracer units and a radar like display appeared, a flashing green dot just off dead centre showing a positive signal detection from the direction of the table holding the Sergeant. Wonderful. The transponder was powered by Tesseract energy so could potentially run for years. The only draw back of the design was its limited range, a few hundred feet at most, a compromise necessitated by the miniature size and the need for the signal to remain unnoticed. Not that he anticipated Barnes ever getting quite that far away from them.

He placed the first receiver in his trouser pocket, where it sat, smaller than a pocket watch but far more useful in the right circumstances. He picked up its twin and turned to face Feltz. "I am entrusting you with this Feltz. It will enable us to locate Sergeant Barnes if he falls into the wrong hands. Keep it safe and secure at all times."

"Of course Sir." Feltz held out his hand palm up to receive his charge.

Zola paused a moment before handing it over. "Koller? He almost cost us dearly today."

Feltz's face hardened. "I have made arrangements. He shall be dealt with after we have left. I thought it was best."

Zola couldn't fault that logic. He placed the receiver in Feltz's hands. "Very well."

They were interrupted by the sudden sound of running feet growing louder as they approached down the hallway outside. Weber appeared at the door, completely out of breath.

"Well, is it the convoy?" Zola knew he sounded as impatient as he was.

"No. I am sorry Herr Zola, Sergeant Feltz - the Red Skull is here." The young soldier panted out.

Zola's fist clenched. They were out of time.

He moved briskly over to the ice box and pulled out the softly glowing green-blue vial of the final stage serum. He surveyed the room until he spotted what he was looking for. His portable cooling unit was over by the window. He opened it, producing wafts of water vapour as the supercooled air inside mixed with that of the lab. In went the vial of serum. Zola carefully resealed it.

Picking it up gently he walked back over to Feltz and held it out. "Take this to one of our transport vehicles and tell them to depart immediately. I won't risk loosing both serum and subject to some unforeseen misfortune." After all with nothing else working out as planned, expecting the journey to do so was to inevitably invite some new disaster to strike. "Then go await the convoy and get Barnes away as soon as you are able. I will be with Herr Schmidt. We shall meet at the rendezvous co-ordinates in four hours if all goes well. Are you able to administer an injection, Sergeant Feltz?"

The Hydra man nodded. "Well enough, Sir."

Zola moved back around his equipment drawers and prepared a new syringe of sedative which he capped off. He handed this to Feltz. "In case he wakes before you can transfer him. The vein is ideal but the leg muscle will suffice if needs be. That will be all, Sergeant."

Feltz gave him as close to the Hydra salute as he was able to perform with his current burdens and left the room to carry out the Doctor's orders.

Zola took a deep breath, took one last look at Barnes and went down to meet his leader.

He hastened along the corridors and down the stairs that would take him to the factory floor, using the time to rerun his strategy and visualise various scenarios. He was quietly confident that he could keep Schmidt occupied with the Valkyrie and new weapon designs for at least a good handful of hours.

Schmidt was stood next to the lift door, handing off his gloves and hat to Kleiber who was already holding his coat. The man looked remarkably happy to be acting as Herr Schmidt's valet.

"Doctor Zola, what news?"

Zola stopped in front of the much taller man. With anyone else he would enquire about their journey, but such pleasantries were not Schmidt's way. In fact he was already on the move, striding off to walk through the section staffed by the Hydra engineers responsible for assembling the more advanced elements of the weapons systems. Zola moved quickly to join him.

The two of them walked briskly across the factory floor, Schmidt barely moderating his long gait as he briefly swept his eyes over the work taking place.

"As you can see the production of the Valkyrie is progressing on schedule. Even with components of this size." His hand went into his left trouser pocket playing with the miniature signal tracker he'd placed in there. He smiled. Big or small everything he turned his mind to performed perfectly. James Barnes would be no exception. He just needed to keep Schmidt's focus on the factory. He began to lead them to the next part of the production line.

"Increase output by sixty percent, and see to it that our other facilities do the same."

Arnim turned around to look at his leader in shock. What Schmidt was asking, it was not feasible with these resources, not even for him. "But these prisoners, I'm not sure they have the strength."

"Then use up what strength they have Doctor," Schmidt leaned in as though sharing a secret with his head scientist, "there are always more workers". 

Arnim was left frozen in place as Schmidt began moving away, step light, as though he hadn't just condemned hundreds of men to be worked to death. An engineer with a clipboard approached him with a question on his lips and Zola angrily waved him away. "Not now!" He turned to see where Schmidt had gone, and jogged to catch up with the Hydra leader. He couldn't afford to let him out of his sight. Clearly anyone and everyone was now disposable if the Skull wished it. He had made the right choice with his soldier. Of that he now had no doubt.

Luckily Schmidt was heading up to the central control room. If he was subtle about it Arnim might even be able to check in on Feltz's progress in moving Barnes. Fortunately it appeared the Skull intended to take the lift on this occasion, thank goodness. Zola's heart was undergoing enough stress already with so much at stake. They rode up in silence until the doors opened and Schmidt then strode out without pause. The Red Skull waited on no man.

Zola shook his head. Maybe long-term, making the Soldier his to command could address some of this imbalance.

He followed Schmidt into the electronics-filled room. He had no idea what Schmidt had come here for, so he left him to it and took a seat at a console to the far right of the viewing window, well away from his companion. He quickly flicked through the feeds on the security monitor and isolated the lab security camera to his station. It still showed Barnes lying in place on the table where he had left him.

What had happened to Feltz? Damn the man. He looped the feed and hoped that things would still proceed as planned. There was nothing else he could do. He flicked to an external feed. The convoy had arrived. Feltz should have had time to take the valve to be fitted to the containment unit. It would be the work of moments. Barnes should be firmly secured inside and being loaded into the back of the truck by now. Damn and blast.

"What is happening?" Suddenly Schmidt was spurred into action by something he'd seen and hit the general alarm. Arnim stood up in a panic. Had they been discovered? Surely not. Then he heard it. Gunfire. Mein Gott, what was happening?

He looked at more of the exterior camera feeds. They were under attack. By their own captives no less. There were no enemy transports outside and the prison level was empty. How had they broken free? They clearly had more strength left then Arnim had realised. But they were still overworked and underfed POWs, surely the guards could subdue them?

Then he heard an unmistakable sound. The 'flip, flick, hit', triple click of the demolition system he'd personally designed. The Skull was initiating the destruction of all his works. 

"No. No!" He reached out grabbing Schmidt's left hand without even stopping to consider the wisdom of his actions. "What are you doing?"

Schmidt straightened and gestured towards the monitor he'd been viewing, "Our forces are outmatched." Zola looked down and there, shield and all, was the easily recognisable figure of Erskine's supersoldier. Captain America in the flesh. How had the Americans known he was here?

The seven minute countdown was ticking away and now nothing could stop it. The loss of all these parts would be a serious set-back to Schmidt's plans, but he hoped that it would not mean the end of his own. He ran as fast as he was able out of the control centre and across the walkway. He needed to get to his lab.

It took a few painful minutes but he made it at a time he was impressed at given his dubious fitness. But as he jogged through the door and saw Barnes still exactly where he had left him, Arnim felt bile rise in his throat. There must be under 3 minutes left before the explosives started going off. Barnes was still sedated. He still might have time.

He ran into his office and put the last of his notes on Barnes and his personal designs in his document bag without any of his usual care. Speed was of the essence now. He grabbed his hat and coat and rushed out into the hallway. He just needed to locate some assistance, just one guard would do. He looked right and saw someone approaching along the dimly lit corridor. It took him a moment to realise that it wasn't in fact the help he'd been longing for. It was him.

Zola had to leave, he had no choice. He began running and the supersoldier followed. He had to get to Schmidt or it would all be over. All he could hope would be that the Captain would break off his pursuit and free Barnes instead. As he heard the footsteps behind him slow and then fall away, his hopes rose that Barnes and the transformative work he embodied would survive. 

He ran to the lift, it lead to the most secure exits and as expected Schmidt was standing there, holding the Tesseract in its containment box in his hand. Zola wasted no time summoning the elevator car, but clearly they weren't moving fast enough as heavy footfalls announced the approach of their enemy, and just behind him Sergeant Barnes. He was up and running, if looking a little unsteady on his feet. With the amount of drugs that had been in his system even standing was a remarkable achievement.

Their own escape now looked uncertain though. Schmidt might be able to deal with the Captain, but if Barnes knew what he was capable of...

It was too late to issue his leader with a warning, he was already turning to greet his American counterpart.

"Captain America! How exciting! I am a great fan of your films." Schmidt handed the Tesseract over to Arnim and began approaching the Captain along the walkway.

Rogers stepped out on to the bridge, slowly drawing closer to the advancing Hydra leader. Barnes was staying put, seemingly holding himself up on the railing. Zola couldn't help staring. There didn't appear to be any recognition on Barnes' side. The wipe, it seemed, had worked as it should.

"So...Docter Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement but still impressive." Schmidt walked right into the American's punch, the fool. Zola would admit he too was impressed.

The Captain hit back verbally as well. "You've got no idea." Zola frowned, this was about to get violent.

"Haven't I?" Schmidt's returning blow left a fist-shaped dent in the ludicrous metal shield the American was carrying. And as the Captain reached for his gun Schmidt disarmed him with a punch that also sent him crashing on to his back. But as always the Red Skull was over confident and believing himself superior to even another product of the serum, he strode forward to finish off his rival only to have two heavy booted feet collide with his chest and send him hurling backwards.

Zola needed to put an end to this. Seeing that the two adversaries were now on separate halves of the retractable bridge he pulled the lever, activating the gears that pulled the two sides, and the two supposedly superior humans, away from each other. He watched as the danger posed by the Captain was withdrawn but he couldn't help but wonder if he'd now also doomed his own creation. There were no other accessible exits from that side of the factory. Of that he was sure.

Schmidt's posturing barely faltered after he pulled himself upright.

"No matter what lies Erskine told you, you see I was his greatest success."

Oh dear, the mask was coming off. Looking at Schmidt without it still made Zola uncomfortable.

"You don't have one of those do you?" Barnes' response to Schmidt's unveiling was exactly what he'd come to expect from the boy. It almost made Zola smile, despite the dire circumstances.

"You are deluded Captain. You pretend to be a simple soldier..." Zola watched fascinated as Schmidt hurled the mask into the rising flames below. It was amazing how little the continuing explosions had disturbed him, too much else of interest was taking place."...but in reality you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind." 

Schmidt finally seemed ready to leave the burning death trap that had once been their best factory, and followed Arnim back towards the lift as he completed his monologue, "Unlike you I embrace it proudly. Without fear!"

Yes, clearly the mask was now a thing of the past. Oh well, he would adapt to this as to all other things.

"Then how come you're running?"

Schmidt didn't respond to the American's taunt. You'd think the building burning down around them all would be answer enough. Zola shot one last look at Barnes as the doors closed. He found himself hoping that the men made it out unscathed, even if that meant the star-spangled supersoldier returning to plague them once more. He intended to have Barnes back. The two would escape, of that he was sure.

Arnim suddenly noticed they were heading up not down as he'd expected. "Sir, are we going to the roof?"

Schmidt didn't reply, but the doors opening to reveal his one-man aerial vehicle answered the question for him.

Zola felt a stab of concern. "What about me? Where will I sit?"

Schmidt's terrifying red skull visage turned towards him and after a brief pause he dropped the keys to his beloved car in Arnim's palm. "Not a scratch Doctor, not a scratch." With that he headed off to make his escape with his prized Tesseract in tow.

As soon as the doors slid shut, Zola slammed his palm against the button that would take him to the reinforced sub level where the car was kept. He fought against his panic as the lift descended, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the munitions caught light and the building came down on top of him. It was surprising that it hadn't already started. The doors opened once again and he ran round to the drivers' side of the beautiful vehicle, threw his document bag into the passenger seat and pulled the door release handle. Within moment he was racing away from the factory as fast as he was able to, which was significant thanks to the advanced engine Schmidt had personally designed.

He didn't know where he was driving towards through the darkness, but his eventual destination was still Czechoslovakia. As he hoped was Feltz's, if the man had managed to survive. He hoped at least some of his research and equipment had been spared - the serum if nothing else.

He didn't know the way from here, but he was still firmly in Hydra-held territory so it was only a matter of time before he would run into a patrol who could assist him. Then he would set about rebuilding all that Captain America had just taken from him. He'd stolen precious time, Zola's efforts and most importantly his creation. But Arnim didn't doubt he would find him again. He had the tracker. The Sergeant would have to be close for it to locate him, but with patience and Zola's single-mindedness brought to bare Barnes would soon be back where he was meant to be. It was simply just a matter of time. After all he always completed what he started. Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why the tracker? Well Zola seemed to have troops after Cap and Bucky awfully quickly on that train...and suitably armed ones at that. 
> 
> Did Feltz survive? Yes, as did Koller I'm sad to say.
> 
> Which memory of Bucky's did Zola wipe? Well that will be answered in our next tale...a Bucky POV. :)


End file.
